LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Of  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


THE    TWINS 

OF 

TABLE    MOUNTAIN, 

AND    OTHER  STORIES. 

BY 

BRET   HARTE. 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  AND   COMPANY. 

&fje  i&tetoe  $ress,  Cambrtofle, 
1880. 

TTTfPAPV 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


COPYRIGHT,  1879, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  &  COMPANY. 

All  riff  Ms  reserved. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  C.  J.  PETERS   AND    SON, 
BOSTON,   MASS. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN   ...      5 
IL  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG 109 

III.  THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY  .    .    .140 

IV.  A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT 193 

V.  VIEWS  FROM  A  GERMAN  SPION    ....  227 


THE 

TWINS   OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 


I. 

A   CLOUD   ON   THE   MOUNTAIN. 

r  I  ^HEY  lived  on  the  verge  of  a  vast  stony 
J-  level,  upheaved  so  far  above  the  sur- 
rounding country  that  its  vague  outlines, 
viewed  from  the  nearest  valley,  seemed  a  mere 
cloud-streak  resting  upon  the  lesser  hills.  The 
rush  and  roar  of  the  turbulent  river  that 
washed  its  eastern  base  were  lost  at  that 
height ;  the  winds  that  strove  with  the  giant 
pines  that  half  way  climbed  its  flanks  spent 
their  fury  below  the  summit ;  for,  at  variance 
with  most  meteorological  speculation,  an  eter- 
nal calm  seemed  to  invest  this  serene  altitude. 
The  few  Alpine  flowers  seldom  thrilled  their 
petals  to  a  passing  breeze  ;  rain  and  snow  fell 

5 


6          THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

alike  perpendicular!}-,  heavity,  and  monoto- 
nously over  the  granite  bowlders  scattered 
along  its  brown  expanse.  Although  by  actual 
measurement  an  inconsiderable  elevation  of 
the  Sierran  range,  and  a  mere  shoulder  of  the 
nearest  white-faced  peak  that  glimmered  in  the 
west,  it  seemed  to  lie  so  near  the  quiet,  pas- 
sionless stars,  that  at  night  it  caught  some- 
thing of  their  calm  remoteness.  The  articu- 
late utterance  of  such  a  locality  should  have 
been  a  whisper ;  a  laugh  or  exclamation  was 
discordant ;  and  the  ordinary  tones  of  the' 
human  voice  on  the  night  of  the  15th  of  May, 
1868,  had  a  grotesque  incongruity. 

In  the  thick  darkness  that  clothed  the  moun- 
tain that  night,  the  human  figure  would  have 
been  lost,  or  confounded  with  the  outlines  of 
outlying  bowlders,  which  at  such  times  took 
upon  themselves  the  vague  semblance  of  men 
and  animals.  Hence  the  voices  in  the  follow- 
ing colloqu}-  seemed  the  more  grotesque  and 
incongruous  from  being  the  apparent  expres- 
sion of  an  upright  monolith,  ten  feet  high,  on 
the  right,  and  another  mass  of  granite,  that, 
reclining,  peeped  over  the  verge. 


A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.  7 

"Hello!" 

"Hello  yourself!" 

"  You're  late." 

"  I  lost  the  trail,  and  climbed  up  the  slide." 

Here  followed  a  stumble,  the  clatter  of 
stones  down  the  mountain-side,  and  an  oath 
so  veiy  human  and  undignified  that  it  at  once 
relieved  the  bowlders  of  any  complicity  of 
expression.  The  voices,  too,  were  close  to- 
gether now,  and  unexpectedly  in  quite  another 
locality. 

"  An}'  thing  up?  " 

"  Looey  Napoleon's  declared  war  agin  Ger- 
many." 

"Sho-o-o!" 

Notwithstanding  this  exclamation,  the  inter- 
est of  the  latter  speaker  was  evident!}7  only 
polite  and  perfunctory.  What,  indeed,  were, 
the  political  convulsions  of  the  Old  World  to 
the  dwellers  on  this  serene,  isolated  eminence 
of  the  New? 

UI   reckon  it's    so,"    continued    the    first 

voice.     "French    Pete   and   that   thar  feller 

« that  keeps  the  Dutch  grocery  hev  hed  a  row 

over  it ;  emptied  their  six-shooters  into  each 


8         THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

other.  The  Dutchman's  got  two  balls  in  his 
leg,  and  the  Frenchman's  got  an  onnessary 
buttonhole  in  his  shirt-buzzum,  and  hez  caved 
in." 

This  concise,  local  corroboration  of  the  con- 
flict of  remote  nations,  however  confirmatory, 
did  not  appear  to  excite  any  further  interest. 
Even  the  last  speaker,  now  that  he  was  in  this 
calm,  dispassionate  atmosphere,  seemed  to  lose 
his  own  concern  in  his  tidings,  and  to  have 
abandoned  every  thing  of  a  sensational  and 
lower- worldly  character  in  the  pines  below. 
There  were  a  few  moments  of  absolute  silence, 
and  then  another  stumble.  But  now  the  voices 
of  both  speakers  were  quite  patient  and  philo- 
sophical. 

"  Hold  on,  and  I'll  strike  a  light,"  said  the 
second  speaker.  "  I  brought  a  lantern  along, 
but  I  didn't  light  up.  I  kem  out  afore  sun- 
down, and  you  know  how  it  allers  is  up  }-er. 
J  didn't  want  it,  and  didn't  keer  to  light  up. 
I  forgot  you're  always  a  little  dazed  and 
strange-like  when  }-ou  first  come  up." 

There  was  a  crackle,  a  flash,  and  presently 
a  steady  glow,  which  the  surrounding  darkness 


A  CLOUD   ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.  9 

seemed  to  resent.  The  faces  of  the  two  men 
thus  revealed  were  singularly  alike.  The  same 
thin,  narrow  outline  of  jaw  and  temple  ;  the 
same  dark,  grave  eyes  ;  the  same  brown  growth 
of  curly  beard  and  mustache,  which  concealed 
the  mouth,  and  hid  what  might  have  been  any 
individual  idiosyncrasy  of  thought  or  expres- 
sion,—  showed  them  to  be  brothers,  or  better 
known  as  the  "Twins'  of  Table  Mountain." 
A  certain  animation  in  the  face  of  the  second 
speaker,  —  the  first-comer,  —  a  certain  light  in 
his  eye,  might  have  at  first  distinguished  him ; 
but  even  this  faded  out  in  the  steady  glow  of 
the  lantern,  and  had  no  value  as  a  permanent 
distinction,  for,  by  the  time  -they  had  reached 
the  western  verge  of  the  mountain,  the  two 
faces  had  settled  into  a  homogeneous  calmness 
and  melancholy. 

The  vague  horizon  of  darkness,  that  a  few 
feet  from  the  lantern  still  encompassed  them, 
gave  no  indication  of  their  progress,  until  their 
feet  actually  trod  the  rude  planks  and  thatch 
that  formed  the  roof  of  their  habitation  ;  for 
their  cabin  half  burrowed  in  the  mountain, 
and  half  clung,  like  a  swallow's  nest,  to  the 


10       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

side  of  the  deep  declivity  that  terminated  the 
northern  limit  of  the  summit.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  windlass  of  a  shaft,  a  coil  of  rope, 
and  a  few  heaps  of  stone  and  gravel,  which 
were  the  only  indications  of  human  labor  in 
that  stony  field,  there  was  nothing  to  interrupt 
its  monotonous  dead  level.  And,  when  they 
descended  a  dozen  well-worn  steps  to  the  door 
of  their  cabin,  they  left  the  summit,  as  before, 
lonely,  silent,  motionless,  its  long  level  unin- 
terrupted, basking  in  the  cold  light  of  the 
stars. 

The  simile  of  a  u  nest ' '  as  applied  to  the 
cabin  of  the  brothers  was  no  mere  figure  of 
speech  as  the  light  of  the  lantern  first  flashed 
upon  it.  The  narrow  ledge  before  the  door 
was  strewn  with  feathers.  A  suggestion  that 
it  might  be  the  home  and  haunt  of  predatory 
birds  was  promptly  checked  by  the  spectacle 
of  the  nailed-up  carcasses  of  a  dozen  hawks 
against  the  walls,  and  the  outspread  wings  of 
an  extended  eagle  emblazoning  the  gable  above 
the  door,  like  an  armorial  bearing.  Within  the 
cabin  the  walls  and  chimnej'-piece  were  daz- 
ingly  bedecked  with  the  party-colored  wings 


A  CLOUD   ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.  II 

of  jays,  yellow-birds,  woodpeckers,  kingfishers, 
and  the  poly- tinted  wood-duck.  Yet  in  that 
dry,  highly-rarefied  atmosphere,  there  was  not 
the  slightest  suggestion  of  odor  or  decay. 

The  first  speaker  hung  the  lantern  upon  a 
hook  that  dangled  from  the  rafters,  and,  going 
to  the  broad  chimney,  kicked  the  half-dead 
embers  into  a  sudden  resentful  blaze.  He 
then  opened  a  rude  cupboard,  and,  without 
looking  around,  called,  "  Ruth  !  " 

The  second  speaker  turned  his  head  from 
the  open  doorwa}'  where  he  was  leaning,  as  if 
listening  to  something  in  the  darkness,  and 
answered  abstractedly,  — 

"Rand!" 

"I  don't  believe  you  have  touched  grub 
to-day !" 

Ruth  grunted  out  some  indifferent  reply. 

"  Thar  hezen't  been  a  slice  cut  off  that  bacon 
since  I  left,"  continued  Rand,  bringing  a  side 
of  bacon  and  some  biscuits  from  the  cupboard, 
and  applying  himself  to  the  discussion  of  them 
at  the  table.  "You're  gettin'  off  yer  feet, 
Ruth.  What's  up?" 

Ruth  replied  by  taking  an   uninvited    seat 


12       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

beside  him,  and  resting  his  chin  on  the  palms 
of  his  hands.  He  did  not  eat,  but  simply 
transferred  his  inattention  from  the  door  to 
the  table. 

"You're  workin'  too  marry  hours  in  the 
shaft,"  continued  Rand.  "You're  always  up 
to  some  such  d — n  fool  business  when  I'm  not 
yer." 

"  I  dipped  a  little  west  to-da}',"  Ruth  went 
on,  without  heeding  the  brotherly  remon- 
strance, u  and  struck  quartz  and  pyrites." 

"  Thet's  you  ! — allers  dippin'  west  or  east 
for  quartz  and  the  color,  instead  of  keeping  on 
plumb  down  to  the  '  cement '  !  "  l 

"  We've  been  three  }Tears  digging  for  cem- 
ent," said  Ruth,  more  in  abstraction  than  in 
reproach,  —  "  three  years  !  " 

"And  we  may  be  three  years  more  —  may 
be  only  three  days.  Why,  you  couldn't  be 
more  impatient  if —  if —  if  }'ou  lived  in  a 
valley. ' ' 

Delivering  this  tremendous  comparison  as 
an  unanswerable  climax,  Rand  applied  him- 

.  *  The  local  name  for  gold-bearing  alluvial  drift,  — the  bed  of 
a  prehistoric  river. 


A   CLOUD   ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.  13 

self  once  more  to  his  repast.  Euth  after  a 
moment's  pause,  without  speaking  or  looking 
up,  disengaged  his  hand  from  under  his  chin, 
and  slid  it  along,  palm  uppermost,  on  the 
table  beside  his  brother.  Thereupon  Rand 
slowly  reached  forward  his  left  hand,  the  right 
being  engaged  in  conve}'ing  victual  to  his 
mouth,  and  laid  it  on  his  brother's  palm. 
The  act  was  evidently  an  habitual,  half  me- 
chanical one  ;  for  in  a  few  moments  the  hands 
were  as  gently  disengaged,  without  comment 
or  expression.  At  last  Rand  leaned  back  in 
his  chair,  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and, 
complacently  loosening  the  belt  that  held  his 
revolver,  threw  it  and  the  weapon  on  his  bed. 
Taking  out  his  pipe,  and  chipping  some  to- 
bacco on  the  table,  he  said  carelessly,  "  I 
came  a  piece  through  the  woods  with  Mornie 
just  now." 

The  face  that  Ruth  turned  upon  his  brother 
was  very  distinct  in  its  expression  at  that 
moment,  and  quite  belied  the  popular  theory 
that  the  twins  could  not  be  told  apart.  "  Thet 
gal,"  continued  Rand,  without  looking  up, 
"  is  either  flighty,  or  —  orsuthin',"  he  added 


14       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

in  vague  disgust,  pushing  the  table  from  him 
as  if  it  were  the  lady  in  question.  "Don't 
tell  me!" 

Ruth's  eyes  quickty  sought  his  brother's, 
and  were  as  quickly  averted,  as  he  asked 
hurriedly,  "How?" 

"What  gets  me,"  continued  Eand  in  a 
petulant  non  sequitur,  "is  that  you,  my  own 
twin-brother,  never  lets  on  about  her  comin' 
yer,  permiskus  like,  when  I  ain't  }-er,  and 
you  and  her  gallivantin'  and  promanadin' ,  and 
swoppin'  sentiments  and  mottoes." 

Ruth  tried  to  contradict  his .  blushing  face 
with  a  laugh  of  worldly  indifference. 

"  She  came  up  }rer  on  a  sort  of  pasear" 

"Oh,  yes!  —  a  short  cut  to  the  creek," 
interpolated  Rand  satirically. 

"Last  Tuesday  or  Wed nesday,"  continued 
Ruth,  with  affected  forge tfulness. 

"  Oh,  in  course,  Tuesday,  or  Wednesday,  or 
Thursday  !  You've  so  many  folks  climbing  up 
this  yer  mountain  to  call  on  }re,"  continued 
the  ironical  Rand,  "that  you  disremember ; 
only  you  remembered  enough  not  to  tell  me. 
She  did.  She  took  me  for  you,  or  pretended 
to." 


A  CLOUD   ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.  15 

The  color  dropped  from  Ruth's  cheek. 

"  Took  you  for  me?"  he  asked,  with  an 
awkward  laugh. 

"  Yes,"  sneered  Rand  ;  "  chirped  and  chat- 
tered away  about  our  picnic,  our  nosega3Ts, 
and  lord  knows  what !  Said  she'd  keep  them 
blue-jay's  wings,  and  wear  'em  in  her  hat. 
Spouted  poetry  too,  —  the  same  sort  o'  rot 
you  get  off  now  and  then." 

Ruth  laughed  again,  but  rather  ostenta- 
tiously and  nervously. 

"Ruth,  look  yer!" 

Ruth  faced  his  brother. 

"What's  }X)ur  little  game?  Do  you  mean 
to  say  you  don't  know  what  thet  gal  is  ?  Do 
you  mean  to  say  you  don't  know  thet  she's 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  Ferry ;  thet  her 
father's  a  d — d  old  fool,  and  her  mother's  a 
drunkard  and  worse ;  thet  she's  got  any  right 
to  be  hanging  round  yer?  You  can't  mean 
to  marry  her,  even  if  you  kalkilate  to  turn 
me  out  to  do  it,  for  she  wouldn't  live  alone 
with  ye  up  here.  'Tain't  her  kind.  And  if 
I  thought  you  was  thinking  of "  — 

"What?"  said  Ruth,  turning  upon  his 
brother  quickly. 


16       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"Oh,  thet's  right!  Holler;  swear  and 
yell,  and  break  things,  do!  Tear  round!" 
continued  Rand,  kicking  his  boots  off'  in  a 
corner,  "just  because  I  ask  you  a  civil  ques- 
tion. That's  brotherly,"  he  added,  jerking 
his  chair  away  against  the  side  of  the  cabin, 
"ain't  it?" 

"  She's  not  to  blame  because  her  mother 
drinks,  and  her  father's  a  slryster,"  said  Ruth 
earnest!}'  and  strongly.  "  The  men  who 
make  her  the  laughing-stock  of  the  Ferry 
tried  to  make  her  something  worse,  and  failed, 
and  take  this  sneak's  revenge  on  her. 
'  Laughing-stock  !  '  Yes,  the}'  knew  she  could 
turn  the  tables  on  them." 

"Of  course;  go  on!  She's  better  than 
me.  I  know  I'm  a  fratricide,  that's  what  I 
am,"  said  Rand,  throwing  himself  on  the 
upper  of  the  two  berths  that  formed  the  bed- 
stead of  the  cabin. 

"I've  seen  her  three  times,"  continued 
Ruth. 

"And  you've  known  me  twenty  years," 
interrupted  his  brother. 

Ruth  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  to- 
wards the  door. 


A  CLOUD   ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.  17 

"That's  right;  go  on!  Why  don't  3-011 
get  the  chalk?  " 

Ruth  made  no  reply.  Eand  descended  from 
the  bed,  and,  taking  a  piece  of  chalk  from  the 
shelf,  drew  a  line  on  the  floor,  dividing  the 
cabin  in  two  equal  parts. 

"  You  can  have  the  east  half,"  he  said,  as  he 
climbed  slowly  back  into  bed. 

This  mysterious  rite  was  the  usual  termina- 
tion of  a  quarrel  between  the  twins.  Each 
man  kept  his  half  of  the  cabin  until  the  feud 
was  forgotten.  It  was  the  mark  of  silence 
and  separation,  over  which  no  words  of  re- 
crimination, argument,  or  even  explanation, 
were  delivered,  until  it  was  effaced  by  one  or 
the  other.  This  was  considered  equivalent  to 
apology  or  reconciliation,  which  each  were 
equally  bound  in  honor  to  accept. 

It  ma}'  be  remarked  that  the  floor  was  much 
whiter  at  this  line  of  demarcation,  and  under 
the  fresh  chalk-line  appeared  the  faint  evi- 
dences of  one  recently  effaced. 

Without  apparently  heeding  this  potential 
ceremon}',  Ruth  remained  leaning  against  the 
doorway,  looking  upon  the  night,  the  bulk  of 


18       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

whose  profundity  and  blackness  seemed  to  be 
gathered  below  him.  The  vault  above  was 
serene  and  tranquil,  with  a  few  large  far-spaced 
stars ;  the  abyss  beneath,  untroubled  by  sight 
or  sound.  Stepping  out  upon  the  ledge,  he 
leaned  far  over  the  shelf  that  sustained  their 
cabin,  and  listened.  A  faint  rlrythmical  roll, 
rising  and  falling  in  long  undulations  against 
the  invisible  horizon,  to  his  accustomed  ears 
told  him  the  wind  was  blowing  among  the 
pines  in  the  valley.  Yet,  mingling  with  this 
familiar  sound,  his  ear,  now  morbidly  acute, 
seemed  to  detect  a  stranger  inarticulate  mur- 
mur, as  of  confused  and  excited  voices,  swell- 
ing up  from  the  nrysterious  depths  to  the  stars 
above,  and  again  swallowed  up  in  the  gulfs  of 
silence  below.  He  was  roused  from  a  consid- 
eration of  this  phenomenon  by  a  faint  glow 
towards  the  east,  which  at  last  brightened, 
until  the  dark  outline  of  the  distant  walls  of 
the  valley  stood  out  against  the  sk}r.  Were 
.his  other  senses  participating  in  the  delusion 
of  his  ears?  for  with  the  brightening  light 
came  the  faint  odor  of  burning  timber. 

His  face  grew  anxious  as   he  gazed.     At 


A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.  19 

last  he  rose,  and  re-entered  the  cabin.  His 
eyes  fell  upon  the  faint  chalk-mark,  and  tak- 
ing his  soft  felt  hat  from  his  head,  with  a  few 
practical  sweeps  of  the  brim  he  brushed  away 
the  ominous  record  of  their  late  estrangement. 
Going  to  the  bed  whereon  Rand  lay  stretched, 
open-eyed,  he  would  have  laid  his  hand  upon 
his  arm  lightly ;  but  the  brother's  fingers 
sought  and  clasped  his  own.  "Get  up,"  he 
said  quietly :  "there's  a  strange  fire  in  the 
Canon  head  that  I  can't  make  out." 

Rand  slowly  clambered  from  his  shelf,  and 
hand  in  hand  the  brothers  stood  upon  the 
ledge.  "It's  a  right  smart  chance  beyond 
the  Ferry,  and  a  piece  bej'ond  the  Mill  too," 
said  Rand,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
from  force  of  habit.  "  It's  in  the  woods 
where  ' '  —  He  would  have  added  where  he 
met  Mornie  ;  but  it  was  a  point  of  honor  with 
the  twins,  after  reconciliation,  not  to  allude  to 
any  topic  of  their  recent  disagreement. 

Ruth  dropped  his  brother's  hand.  "It 
doesn't  smell  like  the  woods,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Smell!"  repeated  Rand  incredulously. 
"  Why,  it's  twenty  miles  in  a  bee-line  yonder. 
Smell,  indeed!" 


20       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

Ruth  was  silent,  but  presently  fell  to  listen- 
ing again  with  his  former  abstraction.  "  You 
don't  hear  any  thing,  do  you?  "  he  asked  after 
a  pause. 

"  It's  blowin'  in  the  pines  on  the  river," 
said  Rand  shortly. 

"  You  don't  hear  any  thing  else?  " 

"No." 

"  Nothing  like —  like —  like  "  — 

Rand,  who  had  been  listening  with  an  in- 
tensity  that  distorted  the  left  side  of  his  face, 
interrupted  him  impatiently. 

"  Like  what?" 

u  Like  a  woman  sobbin'  ?  " 

"  Ruth,"  said  Rand,  suddenly  looking  up  in 
his  brother's  face,  "  what's  gone  of  }TOU?" 

Ruth  laughed.  u  The  fire's  out,"  he  said, 
abruptly  re-entering  the  cabin.  u  I'm  goin' 
to  turn  in." 

Rand,  following  his  brother  half  reproach- 
fulty,  saw  him  divest  himself  of  his  clothing, 
and  roll  himself  in  the  blankets  of  his  bed. 

"  Good-night,  Randy!  " 

Rand  hesitated.  He  would  have  liked  to 
ask  his  brother  another  question ;  but  there 


A  CLOUD   ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.  21 

was  clearly  nothing  to  be  done  but  follow  his 
example. 

"Good-night,  Ruth}'!"  he  said,  and  put 
out  the  light.  As  he  did  so,  the  glow  in  the 
eastern  horizon  faded  too,  and  darkness  seemed 
to  well  up  from  the  depths  below,  and,  flowing 
in  the  open  door,  wrapped  them  in  deeper 
slumber. 


22       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 


THE    CLOUDS    GATHER. 

TWELVE  months  had  elapsed  since  the  quar- 
rel and  reconciliation,  during  which  interval 
no  reference  was  made  by  either  of  the  broth- 
ers to  the  cause  which  had  provoked  it.  Rand 
was  at  work  in  the  shaft,  Ruth  having  that 
morning  undertaken  the  replenishment 'of  the 
larder  with  game  from  the  wooded  skirt  of 
the  mountain.  Rand  had  taken  advantage  of 
his  brother's  absence  to  "prospect"  in  the 
"drift," — a  proceeding  utterly  at  variance 
with  his  previous  condemnation  of  all  such 
speculative  essay;  but  Rand,  despite  his  as- 
sumption of  a  superior  practical  nature,  was 
not  above  certain  local  superstitions.  Having 
that  morning  put  on  his  gray  flannel  shirt 
wrong  side  out,  —  an  abstraction  recognized 
among  the  miners  as  the  sure  forerunner  of 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  23 

divination  and  treasure-discovery,  —  he  could 
not  forego  that  opportunity  of  trying  his  luck, 
without  hazarding  a  dangerous  example.  He 
was  also  conscious  of  feeling  "  chipper,"  — 
another  local  expression  for  buo}*ancy  of  spirit, 
not  common  to  men  who  work  fifty  feet  below 
the"  surface,  without  the  stimulus  of  air  and 
sunshine,  and  not  to  be  overlooked  as  an-  im- 
portant factor  in  fortunate  adventure.  Never- 
theless, noon  came  without  the  discovery  of 
any  treasure.  He  had  attacked  the  walls  on 
either  side  of  the  lateral  "drift"  skilfully,  so 
as  to  expose  their  quality  without  destroying 
their  cohesive  integrity,  but  had  found  nothing. 
Once  or  twice,  returning  to  the  shaft  for  rest 
and  air,  its  grim  silence  had  seemed  to  him 
pervaded  with  some  vague  echo  of  cheerful 
holiday  voices  above.  This  set  him  to  think- 
ing of  his  brother's  equally  extravagant  fanc}r 
of  the  wailing  voices  in  the  air  on  the  night  of 
the  fire,  and  of  his  attributing  it  to  a  lover's 
abstraction. 

' c  I  laid  it  to  his  being  struck  after  that  gal ; 
and  yet,"  Rand  continued  to  himself/  u  here's 
me,  who  haven't  been  foohV  round  no  gal, 


24       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

and  dog  my  skin  if  I  didn't  think  I  heard  one 
singin'  up  thar !  "  He  put  his  foot  on  the 
lower  round  of  the  ladder,  paused,  and  slowly 
ascended  a  dozen  steps.  Here  he  paused 
again.  All  at  once  the  whole  shaft  was  filled 
with  the  musical  vibrations  of  a  woman's 
song.  Seizing  the  rope  that  hung  idly  from 
the  windlass,  he  half  climbed,  half  swung  him- 
self, to  the  surface. 

The  voice  was  there  ;  but  the  sudden  transi- 
tion to  the  dazzling  level  before  him  at  first 
blinded  his  eyes,  so  that  he  took  in  only  by 
degrees  the  unwonted  spectacle  of  the  singer, 
—  a  pretty  girl,  standing  on  tiptoe  on  a  bowl- 
der not  a  dozen  }'ards  from  him,  utterly  ab- 
sorbed in  tying  a  gayly-striped  neckerchief, 
evidently  taken  from  her  own  plump  throat, 
to  the  halliards  of  a  freshly-cut  hickory-pole 
newly  reared  as  a  flag-staff  beside  her.  The 
hickory-pole,  the  halliards,  the  fluttering  scarf, 
the  3'oung  lady  herself,  were  all  glaring  inno- 
vations on  the  familiar  landscape ;  but  Rand, 
with  his  hand  still  on  the  rope,  silently  and 
demurely  enjoyed  it. 

For  the  better  understanding  of  the  general 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  25 

reader,  who  does  not  live  on  an  isolated  moun- 
tain, it  may  be  observed  that  the  young  lady's 
position  on  the  rock  exhibited  some  study  of 
pose,  and  a  certain  exaggeration  of  attitude, 
that  betrayed  the  habit  of  an  audience ;  also 
that  her  voice  had  an  artificial  accent  that  was 
not  wholly  unconscious,  even  in  this  lofty  soli- 
tude. Yet  the  very  next  moment,  when  she 
turned,  and  caught  Rand's  eye  fixed  upon  her, 
she  started  naturally,  colored  slightly,  uttered 
that  feminine  adjuration,  "  Good  Lord!  gra- 
cious !  goodness  me !  ' '  which  is  seldom  used 
in  reference  to  its  effect  upon  the  hearer, 
and  skipped  instantly  from  the  bowlder  to  the 
ground.  Here,  however,  she  alighted  in  a 
pose,  brought  the  right  heel  of  her  neatly-fit- 
ting left  boot  closety  into  the  hollowed  side  of 
her  right  instep,  at  the  same  moment  deftly 
caught  her  flying  skirt,  whipped  it  »around  her 
ankles,  and,  slightly  raising  it  behind,  permit- 
ted the  chaste  display  of  an  inch  or  two  of 
frilled  white  petticoat.  The  most  irreverent 
critic  of  the  sex  will,  I  think,  admit  that  it 
has  some  movements  that  are  automatic. 

"Hope  I  didn't  disturb   3-6,"    said   Rand, 
pointing  to  the  flag- staff. 


26       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

The  young  lady  slightly  turned  her  head. 
"No,"  she  said;  "but  I  didn't  know  any- 
body was  here,  of  course.  Our  party  "  —  she 
emphasized  the  word,  and  accompanied  it  with 
a  look  toward  the  further  extremity  of  the 
plateau,  to  show  she  was  not  alone  —  "our 
party  climbed  this  ridge,  and  put  up  this  pole 
as  a  sign  to  show  they  did  it."  The  ridicu- 
lous self-complacenc}'  of  this  record  in  the 
face  of  a  man  who  was  evidently  a  dweller  on 
the  mountain  apparently  struck  her  for  the 
first  time.  "We  didn't  know,"  she  stam- 
mered, looking  at  the  shaft  from  which  Rand 
had  emerged,  c  fc  that  —  that ' '  —  She  stopped, 
and,  glancing  again  towards  the  distant  range 
where  her  friends  had  disappeared,  began  to 
edge  away. 

"  They  can't  be  far  off,"  interposed  Rand 
quietly,  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world  for  the  lady  to  be  there.  "Table 
Mountain  ain't  as  big  as  all  that.  Don't  }'ou 
be  scared !  So  you  thought  nobody  lived  up 
here?" 

She  turned  upon  him  a  pair  of  honest  hazel 
eyes,  -which  not  only  contradicted  the  some- 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  27 

what  meretricious  smartness  of  her  dress,  but 
was  utterly  inconsistent  with  the  palpable  arti- 
ficial color  of  her  hair,  —  an  obvious  imitation 
of  a  certain  popular  fashion  then  known  in 
artistic  circles  as  the  "  British  Blonde,"  — and 
began  to  ostentatiously  resume  a  pair  of  lemon- 
colored  kid  gloves.  Having,  as  it  were,  thus 
indicated  her  standing  and  respectability,  and 
put  an  immeasurable  distance  between  herself 
and  her  bold  interlocutor,  she  said  impres- 
sively, "  We  evidently  made  a  mistake  :  I  will 
rejoin  our  party,  who  will,  of  course,  apolo- 
gize." 

"What's  your  hurry?"  said  the  impertur- 
bable Rand,  disengaging  himself  from  the  rope, 
and  walking  towards  her.  "  As  long  as  you're 
up  here,  you  miglrt  stop  a  spell." 

"I  have  no  wish  to  intrude;  that  is,  our 
party  certainly  has  not,"  continued  the  young 
lady,  pulling  the  tight  gloves,  and  smoothing 
the  plump,  almost  bursting  fingers,  with  an 
affectation  of  fashionable  ease. 

"  Oh  !  I  haven't  any  thing  to  do  just  now," 
said  Rand,  "  and  it's  about  grub  time,  I 
reckon.  Yes,  I  live  here,  Ruth  and  me, — 
right  here." 


28       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

The  young  woman  glanced  at  the  shaft. 

"No,  not  down  there/'  said  Rand,  follow- 
ing her  eye,  with  a  laugh.  "  Come  here,  and 
I'll  show  3'ou." 

A  strong  desire  to  keep  up  an  appearance  of 
genteel  reserve,  and  an  equalty  strong  inclina- 
tion to  enjoy  the  adventurous  company  of  this 
good-looking,  hearty  young  fellow,  made  her 
hesitate.  Perhaps  she  regretted  having  under- 
taken a  role  of  such  dignity  at  the  beginning  : 
she  could  have  been  so  perfectly  natural  with 
this  perfectly  natural  man,  whereas  airy  relax- 
ation now  might  increase  his  familiarity.  And 
yet  she  was  not  without  a  vague  suspicion  that 
her  dignity  and  her  gloves  were  alike  thrown 
away  on  him,  — a  fact  made  the  more  evident 
when  Rand  stepped  to  her  side,  and,  without 
any  apparent  consciousness  of  disrespect  or 
gallantry,  laid  his  large  hand,  half  persua- 
sive!}', half  fraternalty,  upon  her  shoulder,  and 
said,  "Oh,  come  along,  do  !  " 

The  simple  act  either  exceeded  the  limits  of 
her  forbearance,  or  decided  the  course  of  her 
subsequent  behavior.  She  instantly  stepped 
back  a  single  pace,  and  drew  her  left  foot 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  29 

slowly  and  deliberately  after  her ;  then  she 
fixed  her  eyes  and  uplifted  eyebrows  upon  the 
daring  hand,  and,  taking  it  by  the  ends  of  her 
thumb  and  forefinger^  lifted  it,  and  dropped  it 
in  mid-air.  She  then  folded  her  arms.  It  was 
the  indignant  gesture  with  which  "  Alice/'  the 
Pride  of  Dumballin  Village,  received  the  loath-- 
some  advances  of  the  bloated  aristocrat,  Sir 
Parky ns  Parky n,  and  had  at  Marys ville,  a  few 
nights  before,  brought  down  the  house. 

This  effect  was,  I  think,  however,  lost  upon 
Rand.  The  slight  color  that  rose  to  his  cheek 
as  he  looked  down  upon  his  clay-soiled  hands 
was  due  to  the  belief  that  he  had  really  con- 
taminated her  outward  superfine  person.  But 
his  color  quickly  passed :  his  frank,  boyish 
smile  returned,  as  he  said,  "  It'll  rub  off. 
Lord,  don't  mind  that !  Thar,  now  —  come 
on.!" 

The  young  woman  bit  her  lip.  Then  nature 
triumphed ;  and  she  laughed,  although  a  little 
scornfully.  And  then  Providence  assisted  her 
with  the  sudden  presentation  of  two  figures, 
a  man  and  woman,  slowly  climbing  up  over 
the  mountain  verge,  not  far  from  them.  With 


-  30       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

a  cr}T  of  "  There's  Sol,  now  !  "  she  forgot  her 
dignity  and  her  confusion,  and  ran  towards 
them. 

Eand  stood  looking  after  her  neat  figure,  less 
concerned  in  the  advent  of  the  strangers  than 
in  her  sudden  caprice.  He  was  not  so  young 
and  inexperienced  but  that  he  noted  certain 
ambiguities  in  her  dress  and  manner :  he  was 
by  no  means  impressed  by  her  dignit}'.  But 
he  could  not  help  watching  her  as  she  appeared 
to  be  volubry  recounting  her  late  interview  to 
her  companions  5  and,  still  unconscious  of  any 
impropriety  or  obtrusiveness,  he  lounged  down 
lazily  towards  her.  Her  humor  had  evidently 
changed  ;  for  she  turned  an  honest,  pleased 
face  upon  him,  as  she  girlishly  attempted  to 
drag  the  strangers  forward. 

The  man  was  plump  and  short ;  unlike  the 
natives  of,  the  locality,  he  was  closely  cropped 
and  shaven,  as  if  to  keep  down  the  strong 
blue-blackness  of  his  beard  and  hair,  which 
nevertheless  asserted  itself  over  his  round 
cheeks  and  upper  lip  like  a  tattooing  of  Indian 
ink.  The  woman  at  his  side  was  reserved  and 
indistinctive,  with  that  appearance  of  being  an 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  31 

unenthusiastic  family  servant  peculiar  to  some 
men's  wives.  When  Rand  was  within  a  few 
feet  of  him,  he  started,  struck  a  theatrical  atti- 
tude, and,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  cried, 
u  What,  do  me  eyes  deceive  me  !  "  burst  into 
a  hearty  laugh,  darted  forward,  seized  Rand's 
hand,  and  shook  it  briskly. 

"  Pinkney,  Pinkney,  my  boy  !  how  are  you? 
And  this  is  your  little  '  prop  ?  '  your  quarter- 
section,  your  country-seat,  that  we've  been 
trespassing  on,  eh?  A  nice  little  spot,  cool, 
sequestered,  remote, —-a  trifle  unimproved; 
carriage-road  as  yet  unfinished.  Ha,  ha ! 
But  to  think  of  our  making  a  discovery  of 
this  inaccessible  mountain,  climbing  it,  sir, 
for  two  mortal  hours,  christening  it  '  Sol's 
Peak,'  getting  up  a  flag-pole,  unfurling  our 
standard  to  the  breeze,  sir,  and  then,  by  Gad, 
winding  up  by  finding  Pinkney,  the  festive 
Pinkney,  living  on  it  at  home  !  " 

4  Completely  surprised,  but  still  perfectly 
good-humored,  Rand  shook  the  stranger's 
right  hand  warmly,  and  received  on  his  broad 
shoulders  a  welcoming  thwack  from  the  left, 
without  questiop.  "  She  don't  mind  her 


32       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

friends  making  free  with  me  evidently,"  said 
Rand  to  himself,  as  he  tried  to  suggest  that 
fact  to  the  young  lady  in  a  meaning  glance. 

The  stranger  noted  his  glance,  and  suddenly 
passed  his  hand  thoughtfully  over  his  shaven 
cheeks.  "No,"  he  said  —  "yes,  surely,  I 
forget  —  yes,  I  see  ;  of  course  }TOU  don't ! 
Rosy,"  turning  to  his  wife,  "  of  course,  Pink- 
ney  doesn't  know  Phemie,  eh?  " 

"  No,  nor  me  either,  Sol,"  said  that  lady 
warningly. 

"Certainly!"  continued  Sol.  "It's  his 
misfortune.  You  weren't  with  me  at  Gold  Hill. 
—  Allow  me,"  he  said,  turning  to  Rand,  "to 
present  Mrs.  Sol  Saunders,  wife  of  the  under- 
signed, and  Miss  Euphemia  Neville,  other- 
wise known  as  the  '  Marysville  Pet,'  the  best 
variet}r  actress  known  on  the  provincial  boards. 
Played  Ophelia  at  Maiysville,  Frida}T ;  domes- 
tic drama  at  Gold  Hill,  Saturday ;  Sunday 
night,  four  songs  in  character,  different  dresg 
each  time,  and  a  clog-dance.  The  best  clog- 
dance  on  the  Pacific  Slope,"  he  added  in  a 
stage  aside.  "  The  minstrels  are  crazy  to  get 
her  in  'Frisco.  But  money  can't  buy  her  — 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  33 

prefers  the  legitimate  drama  to  this  sort  of 
thing."  Here  he  took  a  few  steps  of  a  jig,  to 
which  the  c  c  Maiysville  Pet ' '  beat  time  with  her 
feet,  and  concluded  with  a  laugh  and  a  wink 
—  the  combined  expression  of  an  artist's  ad- 
miration for  her  abilit}',  and  a  man  of  the 
world's  scepticism  of  feminine  ambition. 

Miss  Euphemia  responded  to  the  formal  in- 
troduction by  extending  her  hand  frankly  with 
a  re-assuring  smile  to  Rand,  and  an  utter 
obliviousness  of  her  former  hauteur.  Rand 
shook  it  warmly,  and  then  dropped  carelessly 
on  a  rock  beside  them. 

"  And  you  never  told  me  you  lived  up  here 
in  the  attic,  you  rascal!  "  continued  Sol  with 
a  laugh. 

u  No,"  replied  Rand  simply.  "  How  could 
I  ?  I  never  saw  you  before,  that  I  re- 
member." 

Miss  Euphemia  stared  at  Sol.  Mrs.  Sol 
looked  up  in  her  lord's  face,  and  folded  her 
arms  in  a  resigned  expression.  Sol  rose  to  his 
feet  again,  and  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
but  this  time  quite  seriously,  and  gazed  at 
Rand's  smiling  face. 


34       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"  Good  Lord  !  Do  you  mean  to  sa}'  3~our 
name  isn't  Pinkne}^?  "  he  asked,  with  a  half 
embarrassed  laugh. 

"  It  is  Pinkney,"  said  Rand  ;  "  but  I  never 
met  you  before." 

u  Didn't  you  come  to  see  a  }'oung  lad}'  that 
joined  my  troupe  at  Gold  Hill  last  month,  and 
say  you'd  meet  me  at  Keeler's  Ferry  in  a  day 
or  two?" 

"  No-o-o,"  said  Rand,  with  a  good-humored 
laugh.  u  I  haven't  left  this  mountain  for  two 
months." 

He  might  have  added  more ;  but  his  atten- 
tion was  directed  to  Miss  Euphemia,  who 
during  this  short  dialogue,  having  stuffed 
alternately  her  handkerchief,  the  corner  of  her 
mantle,  and  her  gloves,  into  her  mouth,  re- 
strained herself  no  longer,  but  gave  way  to  an 
uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter.  UO  Sol!" 
she  gasped  explanatorily,  as  she  threw  herself 
alternately  against  him,  Mrs.  Sol,  and  a  bowl- 
der, "  you'll  kill  me  yet!  O  Lord!  first  we 
take  possession  of  this  man's  property,  then 
we  claim  him."  The  contemplation  of  this 
humorous  climax  affected  her  so  that  she  was 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  35 

fain  at  last  to  walk  away,  and  confide  the  rest 
of  her  speech  to  space. 

Sol  joined  in  the  laugh  until  his  wife  plucked 
his  sleeve,  and  whispered  something  in  his 
ear.  In  an  instant  his  face  became  at  once 
mysterious  and  demure.  "  I  owe  you  an 
apology,"  he  said,  turning  to  Rand,  but  in  a 
voice  ostentatiously  pitched  high  enough  for 
Miss  Euphemia  to  overhear:  "I  see  I  have 
made  a  mistake.  A  resemblance  —  only  a 
mere  resemblance,  as  I  look  at  you  now  —  led 
me  astray.  Of  course  you  don't  know  any 
young  lad}'  in  the  profession?  " 

"Of  course   he   doesn't,    Sol,"   said   Miss 
Euphemia.       "  J  could   have   told  3-011   that 
He  didn't  even  know  me  I  " 

The  voice  and  mock-heroic  attitude  of  the 
speaker  was  enough  to  relieve  the  general 
embarrassment  with  a  laugh.  Rand,  now 
pleasantly  conscious  of  only  Miss  Euphemia' s 
presence,  again  offered  the  hospitality  of  his 
cabin,  with  the  polite  recognition  of  her  friends 
in  the  sentence,  u  and  you  might  as  well  come 
along  too." 

u  But  won't  we  incommode  the  lady  of  the 
house?  "  said  Mrs.  Sol  politely. 


36       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"What  lady  of  the  house?"  said  Rand 
almost  angrily. 

"  Why,  Ruth,  you  know  !  " 

It  was  Rand's  turn  to  become  hilarious. 
"Ruth,"  he  said,  "is  short  for  Rutherford, 
my  brother."  His  laugh,  however,  was  echoed 
only  by  Euphemia. 

"Then  you  have  a  brother?"  said  Mrs. 
Sol  benignly. 

"Yes,"  said  Rand:  "he  will  be  here 
soon."  A  sudden  thought  dropped  the  color 
from  his  cheek.  "Look  here,"  he  said, 
turning  impulsively  upon  Sol.  "I  have  a 
brother,  a  twin-brother.  It  couldn't  be  him'9  — 

Sol  was  conscious  of  a  significant  feminine 
pressure  on  his  right  arm.  He  was  equal  to 
the  emergency.  "  I  think  not,"  he  said  dubi- 
ously, "unless  your  brother's  hair  is  much 
darker  than  yours.  Yes  !  now  I  look  at  3*011, 
yours  is  brown.  He  has  a  mole  on  his  right 
cheek,  hasn't  he?" 

The  red  came  quickly  back  to  Rand's  boyish 
face.  He  laughed.  "No,  sir:  my  brother's 
hair  is,  if  any  thing,  a  shade  lighter  than  mine, 
and  nary  mole.  Come  along  !  " 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  37 

And,  leading  the  wa}r,  Rand  disclosed  the 
narrow  steps  winding  down  to  the  shelf  on 
which  the  cabin  hung.  "  Be  careful,"  said 
Rand,  taking  the  now  unresisting  hand  of  the 
' '  Maiy  sville  Pet ' '  as  they  descended  :  fc  c  a  step 
that  way,  and  down  you  go.  two  thousand 
feet  on  the  top  of  a  pine-tree." 

But  the  girl's  slight  ciy  of  alarm  was  pres- 
ently changed  to  one  of  unaffected  pleasure 
as  they  stood  on  the  rocky  platform.  "It 
isn't  a  house  :  it's  a  nest,  and  the  loveliest !  " 
said  Euphemia  breathlessly. 

"It's  a  scene,  a  perfect  scene,  sir!"  said 
Sol,  enraptured.  "  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of 
bringing  my  scene-painter  to  sketch  it  some 
day.  It  would  do  for  '  The  Mountaineer's 
Bride'  superbly,  or,  u  continued  the  little 
man,  warming  through  the  blue-black  border 
of  his  face  with  professional  enthusiasm,  u  it's 
enough  to  make  a  play  itself.  '  The  Cot  on 
the  Crags.'  Last  scene  —  moonlight  —  the 
struggle  on  the  ledge !  The  Lady  of  the 
Crags  throws  herself  from  the  beetling  heights  ! 
—  A  shriek  from  the  depths  —  a  woman's 
wail!" 


38       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"Dry  up!"  sharply  interrupted  Rand,  to 
whom  this  speech  recalled  his  brother's  half- 
forgotten  strangeness.  "Look  at  the  pros- 
pect." 

In  the  full  noon  of  a  cloudless  day,  beneath 
them  a  tumultuous  sea  of  pines  surged,  heaved, 
rode  in  giant  crests,  stretched  and  lost  itself 
in  the  ghostly,  snow-peaked  horizon.  The 
thronging  woods  choked  every  defile,  swept 
every  crest,  filled  every  valley  with  its  dark- 
green  tilting  spears,  and  left  only  Table 
Mountain  sunlit  and  bare.  Here  and  there 
were  profound  olive  depths,  over  which  the 
gray  hawk  hung  lazily,  and  into  which  blue 
ja}*s  dipped.  A  faint,  dull  yellowish  streak 
marked  an  occasional  watercourse ;  a  deeper 
reddish  ribbon,  the  mountain  road  and  its 
overhanging  murky  cloud  of  dust. 

"  Is  it  quite  safe  here?"  asked  Mrs. 
Sol,  eying  the  little  cabin.  "I  mean  from 
storms?  " 

"It  never  blows  up  here,"  replied  Hand, 
u  and  nothing  happens." 

"  It  must  be  lovely,"  said  Euphemia,  clasp- 
ing her  hands. 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  39 

"It  is  that,"  said  Rand  proudly.  "It's 
four  years  since  Ruth  and  I  took  up  this  yer 
claim,  and  raised  this  shanty.  In  that  four 
years  we  haven't  left  it  alone  a  night,  or  cared 
to.  It's  only  big  enough  for  two,  and  them 
two  must  be  brothers.  It  wouldn't  do  for 
mere  pardners  to  live  here  alone,  —  the}' 
couldn't  do  it.  It  wouldn't  be  exactly  the 
thing  for  man  and  wife  to  shut  themselves  up 
here  alone.  But  Ruth  and  me  know  each 
other's  wa}rs,  and  here  we'll  sta}'  until  we've 
made  a  pile.  We  sometimes  —  one  of  us  — 
takes  a  pasear  to  the  Ferry  to  buy  provisions  ; 
but  we're  glad  to  crawl  up  to  the  back  of  old 
*  Table'  at  night." 

"  You're  quite  out  of  the  world  here,  then?  " 
suggested  Mrs.  Sol. 

44  That's  it,  just  it !  We're  out  of  the  world, 
—  out  of  rows,  out  of  liquor,  out  of  cards, 
out  of  bad  company,  out  of  temptation.  Cuss- 
ed ness  and  foolishness  hez  got  to  follow  us 
up  here  to  find  us,  and  there's  too  man}'  ready 
to  climb  down  to  them  things  to  tempt  'em  to 
come  up  to  us." 

There  was  a  little  boyish  conceit  in  his  tone, 


40       THE  TWINS   OF   TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

as  he  stood  there,  not  altogether  unbecoming 
his  fresh  color  and  simplicity.  Yet,  when  his 
eyes  met  those  of  Miss  Euphemia,  he  colored, 
he  hardly  knew  why,  and  the  young  lady  her- 
self blushed  rosily. 

When  the  neat  cabin,  with  its  decorated 
walls,  and  squirrel  and  wild-cat  skins,  was 
duly  admired,  the  luncheon-basket  of  the  Saun- 
ders  party  wa,*  re-enforced  b}T  provisions  from 
Rand's  larder,  and  spread  upon  the  ledge ; 
the  dimensions  of  the  cabin  not  admitting 
four.  Under  the  potent  influence  of  a  bottle, 
Sol  became  hilarious  and  professional.  The 
u  Pet "  was  induced  to  favor  the  compan}r  with 
a  recitation,  and,  under  the  plea  of  teaching 
Band,  to  perform  the  clog-dance  with  both 
gentlemen.  Then  there  was  an  interval,  in 
which  Rand  and  Euphemia  wandered  a  little 
way  down  the  mountain-side  to  gather  laurel, 
leaving  Mr.  Sol  to  his  siesta  on  a  rock,  and 
Mrs.  Sol  to  take  some  knitting  from  the  basket, 
and  sit  beside  him. 

When  Rand  and  his  companion  had  disap- 
peared, Mrs.  Sol  nudged  her  sleeping  partner, 
"  Do  you  think  that  was  the  brother?  " 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  41 

Sol  yawned.  "Sure  of  it.  They're  as 
like  as  two  pease,  in  looks. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  him  so,  then?  " 

4 'Will  you  tell  me,  my  dear,  why  3-011 
stopped  me  when  I  began  ?  ' ' 

"•Because  something  was  said  about  Ruth 
being  here  ;  and  I  supposed  Ruth  was  a  woman, 
and  perhaps  Pinkney's  wife,  and  knew  you'd 
be  putting  your  foot  in -it  by  talking  of  that 
other  woman.  I  supposed  it  was  for  fear  of 
that  he  denied  knowing  you/* 

4  c  Well,  when  he  —  this  Rand  —  told  me  he 
had  a  twin-brother,  he  looked  so  frightened 
that  I  knew  he  knew  nothing  of  his  brother's 
doings  with  that  woman,  and  I  threw  him  off 
the  scent.  He's  a  good  fellow,  but  awfully 
green,  and  I  didn't  want  to  worry  him  with 
tales.  I  like  him,  and  I  think  Phemie  does 
too." 

4 'Nonsense!  He's  a  conceited  prig!  Did 
you  hear  his  sermon  on  the  world  and  its 
temptations  ?  I  wonder  if  he  thought  tempta- 
tion had  come  up  to  him  in  the  person  of  us 
professionals  out  on  a  picnic.  I  think  it  was 
positively  rude." 


42       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"My  dear  woman,  you're  always  seeing 
slights  and  insults.  I  tell  you  he's  taken  a 
shine  to  Phemie ;  and  he's  as  good  as  four 
seats  and  a  bouquet  to  that  child  next  Wed- 
nesday evening,  to  say  nothing  of  the  eclat  of 
getting  this  St.  Simeon  —  what  do  you  call 
him  ?  —  Stalactites  ?  ' ' 

"  Stylites,"  suggested  Mrs.  Sol. 

"  Stylites,  off  from  his  pillar  here.  I'll 
have  a  paragraph  in  the  paper,  that  the  hermit 
crabs  of  Table  Mountain  "  — 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Sol!" 

"The  hermit  twins  of  Table  Mountain  be- 
spoke the  chaste  performance." 

"  One  of  them  being  the  protector  of  the 
well-known  Morale  Nixon,"  responded  Mrs. 
Sol,  viciously  accenting  the  name  with  her 
knitting-needles . 

"  Rosy,  you're  unjust.  You're  prejudiced 
by  the  reports  of  the  town.  Mr.  Pinkney's 
interest  in  her  may  be  a  purely  artistic  one, 
although  mistaken.  She'll  never  make  a  good 
variety-actress :  she's  too  heavy.  And  -the 
boys  don't  give  her  a  fair  show.  No  woman 
can  make  a  debut  in  my  version  of  '  Somnam- 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  43 

bula,'  and  have  the  front  row  in  the  pit  say  to 
her  in  the  sleep-walking  scene,  '  You're  out 
rather  late,  Mornie.  Kinder  forgot  to  put  on 
your  things,  didn't  you?  Mother  sick,  I  sup- 
pose, and  you're  goin'  for  more  gin?  Hurry 
along,  or  }'ou'll  ketch  it  when  ye  get  home.' 
Why,  you  couldn't  do  it  yourself,  Rosy  !  " 

To  which  Mrs.  Sol's  illogical  climax  was, 
that,  "  bad  as  Rutherford  might  be,  this 
Sunday-school  superintendent,  Rand,  was 
worse." 

Rand  and  his  companion  returned  late,  but 
in  high  spirits.  There  was  an  unnecessary 
effusiveness  in  the  way  in  which  Euphemia 
kissed  Mrs.  Sol,  —  the  one  woman  present, 
who  understood,  and  was  to  be  propitiated,  — 
which  did  not  tend  to  increase  Mrs.  Sol's  good 
humor.  She  had  her  basket  packed  all  ready 
for  departure  ;  and  even  the  earnest  solicita- 
tion of  Rand,  that  the}'  would  defer  their 
going  until  sunset,  produced  no  effect. 

"Mr.  Rand  —  Mr.  Pinkne}-,  I  mean  —  says 
the  sunsets  here  are  so  lovely,"  pleaded  Eu- 
phemia. 

"There  is  a  rehearsal  at  seven  o'  clock,  and 


44       THE   TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

we  have  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Mrs.  Sol  sig- 
nificantly. 

"I  forgot  to  say,"  said  the  "  Marysville 
Pet"  timidly,  glancing  at  Mrs.  Sol,  "that 
Mr.  Rand  says  he  will  bring  his  brother  on 
Wednesday^  night,  and  wants  four  seats  in 
front,  so  as  not  to  be  crowded." 

Sol  shook  the  young  man's  hand  warmly. 
"You'll  not  regret  it,  sir:  it's  a  surprising,  a 
remarkable  performance. ' ' 

"  I'd  like  to  go  a  piece  down  the  mountain 
with  you,"  said  Rand,  with  evident  sincerity, 
looking  at  Miss  Euphemia ;  "but  Ruth  isn't 
here  yet,  and  we  make  a  rule  never  to  leave 
the  place  alone.  I'll  show  you  the  slide  :  it's 
the  quickest  way  to  go  down.  If  3^011  meet 
any  one  who  looks  like  me,  and  talks  like  me, 
call  him  '  Ruth,'  and  tell  him  I'm  waitin'  for 
him  yer." 

Miss  Phemia,  the  last  to  go,  standing  on  the 
verge  of  the  declivity,  here  remarked,  with  a 
dangerous  smile,  that,  if  she  met  any  one  who 
bore  that  resemblance,  she  might  be  tempted 
to  keep  him  with  her,  —  a  playftilness  that 
brought  the  ready  color  to  Rand's  cheek. 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  45 

When  she  added  to  this  the  greater  audacity 
of  kissing  her  hand  to  him,  the  }'oung  hermit 
actually  turned  away  in  sheer  embarrassment. 
When  he  looked  around  again,  she  was  gone, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  experience  the 
mountain  seemed  barren  and  lonely. 

The  too  sympathetic  reader  who  would 
rashly  deduce  from  this  an}'  newly  awakened 
sentiment  in  the  virgin  heart  of  Rand  would 
quite  misapprehend  that  peculiar  3^011  ng  man. 
That  singular  mixture  of  boyish  inexperience 
and  mature  doubt  and  disbelief,  which  was 
partly  the  result  of  his  temperament,  and 
partly  of  his  cloistered  life  on  the  mountain, 
made  him  regard  his  late  companions,  now 
that  they  were  gone,  and  his  intimacy  with 
them,  with  remorseful  distrust.  The  mountain 
was  barren  and  lonely,  because  it  was  no  longer 
his.  It  had  become  a  part  of  the  great  world, 
which  four  years  ago  he  and  his  brother  had 
put  aside,  and  in  which,  as  two  self-devoted 
men,  they  walked  alone.  More  than  that,  he 
believed  he  had  acquired  some  understanding 
of  the  temptations  that  assailed  his  brother, 
and  the  poor  little  vanities  of  the  c  c  Mary sville 


46       THE   TWINS  OF   TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

Pet  "  were  transformed  into  the  blandishments 
of  a  Circe.  Rand,  who  would  have  succumbed 
to  a  wicked,  superior  woman,  believed  he  was 
a  saint  in  withstanding  the  foolish  weakness 
of  a  simple  one. 

He  did  not  resume  his  work  that  da}r.  He 
paced  the  mountain,  anxiously  awaiting  his 
brother's  return,  and  eager  to  relate  his  ex- 
periences. He  would  go  with  him  to  the 
dramatic  entertainment ;  from  his  example 
and  wisdom,  Ruth  should  learn  how  easily 
temptation  might  be  overcome.  But,  first  of 
all,  there  should  be  the  fullest  exchange  of 
confidences  and  explanations.  The  old  rule 
should  be  rescinded  for  once,  the  old  discus- 
sion in  regard  to  Morale  re-opened,  and  Rand, 
having  convinced  his  brother  of  error,  would 
generously  extend  his  forgiveness. 

The  sun  sank  redly.  Lingering  long  upon 
the  ledge  before  their  cabin,  it  at  last  slipped 
away  almost  imperceptibly,  leaving  Rand  still 
wrapped  in  revery.  Darkness,  the  smoke  of 
distant  fires  in  the  woods,  and  the  faint  even- 
ing incense  of  the  pines,  crept  slowly  up ;  but 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  47 

Ruth  came  not.  The  moon  rose,  a  silver 
gleam  on  the  farther  ridge ;  and  Rand,  be- 
coming uneasy  at  his  brother's  prolonged  ab- 
sence, resolved  to  break  another  custom,  and 
leave  the  summit,  to  seek  him  on  the  trail. 
He  buckled  on  his  revolver,  seized  his  gun, 
when  a  cry  from  the  depths  arrested  him.  He 
leaned  over  the  ledge,  and  listened.  Again  the 
cry  arose,  and  this  time  more  distinctly.  He 
held  his  breath  :  the  blood  settled  around  his 
heart  in  superstitious  terror.  It  was  the  wail- 
ing voice  of  a  woman. 

"  Ruth,  Ruth!  for  God's  sake  come  and 
help  me  !  " 

The  blood  flew  back  hotly  to  Rand's  cheek. 
It  was  Morale's  voice.  By  leaning  over  the 
ledge,  he  could  distinguish  something  moving 
along  the  almost  precipitous  face  of  the  cliff, 
where  an  abandoned  trail,  long  since  broken 
off  and  disrupted  by  the  fall  of  a  portion  of 
the  ledge,  stopped  abruptly  a  hundred  feet 
below  him.  Rand  knew  the  trail,  a  danger- 
ous one  always  :  in  its  present  condition  a  sin- 
gle mis-step  would  be  fatal.  Would  she  make 
that  mis-step  ?  He  shook  off  a  horrible  temp- 


'     48       THE  TWINS  OF    TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

tation  that  seemed  to  be  sealing  his  lips,  and 
paralyzing  his  limbs,  and  almost  screamed  to 
her,  "  Drop  on  your  face,  hang  on  to  the 
chaparral,  and  don't  move!"  In  another 
instant,  with  a  coil  of  rope  around  his  arm, 
he  was  dashing  down  the  almost  perpendicular 
' '  slide. ' '  When  he  had  nearly  reached  the  level 
of  the  abandoned  trail,  he  fastened  one  end  of 
the  rope  to  a  jutting  splinter  of  granite,  and 
began  to  "layout,"  and  work  his  way  later- 
ally along  the  face  of  the  mountain.  Presently 
he  struck  the  regular  trail  at  the  point  from 
which  the  woman  must  have  diverged. 

"  It  is  Rand,"  she  said,  without  lifting  her 
head. 

"It  is,"  replied  Rand  coldly.  "Pass  the 
rope  under  your  arms,  and  I'll  get  3^011  back 
to  the  trail." 

"Where  is  Ruth?"  she  demanded  again, 
without  moving.  She  was  trembling,  but 
with  excitement  rather  than  fear. 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  Rand  impatient- 
ly. ' '  Come  !  the  ledge  is  already  crumbling 
beneath  our  feet." 

"Let  it  crumble!"  said  the  woman  pas- 
sionately. 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  49 

Rand  surveyed  her  with  profound  disgust, 
then  passed  the  rope  around  her  waist,  and 
half  lifted,  half  swung  her  from  her  feet.  In 
a  few  moments  she  began  to  mechanically  help 
herself,  and  permitted  him  to  guide  her  to  a 
place  of  safety.  That  reached,  she  sank 
down  #gain. 

The  rising  moon  shone  full  upon  her  face 
and  figure.  Through  his  growing  indignation 
Band  was  still  impressed  and  even  startled 
with  the  change  the  few  last  months  had 
wrought  upon  her.  In  place  of  the  silly,  fan- 
ciful, half-hysterical  ho}'den  whom  he  had 
known,  a  matured  woman,  strong  in  passion- 
ate self-will,  fascinating  in  a  kind  of  wild,  sav- 
age beauty,  looked  up  at  him  as  if  to  read  his 
very  soul. 

4 '  What  are  you  staring  at  ?  ' '  she  said  final- 
ly. "  Why  don't  you  help  me  on?  " 

' '  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?  ' '  said  Rand 
quietly. 

"  Where  !  Up  there  !  "  —  she  pointed  sav- 
agely to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  —  "to  Mm  I 
Where  else  should  I  go?"  she  said,  with  a 
bitter  laugh. 


50       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"  I've  told  you  he  wasn't  there,"  said  Rand 
roughly.  "  He  hasn't  returned." 

"I'll  wait  for  him — do  you  hear?  —  wait 
for  him ;  stay  there  till  he  comes.  If  you 
won't  help  me,  I'll  go  alone." 

She  made  a  step  forward,  but  faltered, 
staggered,  and  was  obliged  to  lean  against  the 
mountain  for  support.  Stains  of  travel  were 
on  her  dress ;  lines  of  fatigue  and  pain,  and 
traces  of  burning  passionate  tears,  were  on  her 
face ;  her  black  hair  flowed  from  beneath  her 
gaudy  bonnet ;  and,  shamed  out  of  his  bru- 
tality, Rand  placed  his  strong  arm  round  her 
waist,  and  half  carrying,  half  supporting  her, 
began  the  ascent.  Her  head  dropped  wearily 
on  his  shoulder ;  her  arm  encircled  his  neck ; 
her  hair,  as  if  caressingly,  lay  across  his  breast 
and  hands  ;  her  grateful  eyes  were  close  to  his  ; 
her  breath  was  upon  his  cheek :  and  yet  his 
only  consciousness  was  of  the  possibly  ludi- 
crous figure  he  might  present  to  his  brother, 
should  he  meet  him  with  Mornie  Nixon  in  his 
arms.  Not  a  .word  was  spoken  by  either  till 
they  reached  the  summit.  Relieved  at  finding 
his  brother  still  absent,  he  turned  not  unkindly 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  51 

toward  the  helpless  figure  on  his  arm.  "I 
don't  see  what  makes  Ruth  so  late,"  he  said. 
"He's  always  here  by  sundown.  Perhaps  "  — 

u  Perhaps  he  knows  I'm  here,"  said  Morale, 
with  a  bitter  laugh. 

u  I  didn't  say  that,"  said  Rand,  "  and  I 
don't  think  it.  What  I  meant  .was,  he  might 
have  met  a  part}'  that  was  picnicking  here  to- 
day,—  Sol.  Saunders  and  wife,  and  Miss  Eu- 
phemia ' '  — 

Mornie  flung  his  arm  away  from  her  with  a 
passionate  gesture.  4i  They  here! — picnick- 
ing here  !  —  those  people  here  I ' ' 

"  Yes,"  said  Rand,  unconsciously  a  little 
ashamed.  "  They  came  here  accidentally." 

Mornie 's  quick  passion  had  subsided :  she 
had  sunk  again  wearily  and  helplessly  on  a 
rock  beside  him.  "  I  suppose,"  she  said,  with 
a  weak  laugh  —  "I  suppose,-  they  talked  of 
me.  I  suppose  they  told  you  how,  with  their 
lies  and  fair  promises,  they  tricked  me  out, 
and  set  me  before  an  audience  of  brutes  and 
laughing  hyenas  to  make  merry  over.  Did 
they  tell  }x>u  of  the  insults  that  I  received  ?  — 
how  the  sins  of  my  parents  were  flung  at  me 


52       THE   TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

instead  of  bouquets  ?  Did  they  tell  you  they 
could  have  spared  me  this,  but  they  wanted 
the  few  extra  dollars  taken  in  at  the  door? 
No!  " 

"  They  said  nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied 
Rand  surlily. 

"  Then  you  must  have  stopped  them.  You 
were  horrified  enough'to  know  that  I  had  dared 
to  take  the  only  honest  way  left  me  to  make 
a  living.  I  know  you,  Randolph  Pinkney ! 
You'd  rather  see  Joaquin  Muriatta,  the  Mexi- 
can bandit,  standing  before  you  to-night  with 
a  revolver,  than  the  helpless,  shamed,  misera- 
ble Mornie  Nixon.  And  }'ou  can't  help  your- 
self, unless  you  throw  me  over  the  cliff.  Per- 
haps you'd  better,"  she  said,  with  a  bitter 
B  laugh  that  faded  from  her  lips  as  she  leaned, 
pale  and  breathless,  against  the  bowlder. 

"  Ruth  will  tell  you  "  —  began  Rand. 

UD— nRuth!" 

Rand  turned  away. 

"  Stop!  "  she  said  suddenly,  staggering  to 
her  feet.  "  I'm  sick  —  for  all  I  know,  dying. 
God  grant  that  it  may  be  so  !  But,  if  .you  are 
a  man,  you  will  help  me  to  youv  cabin  —  to 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  53 

some  place  where  I  can  lie  down  now,  and  be 
at  rest.  I'm  very,  very  tired." 

She  paused.  She  would  have  fallen  again  ; 
but  Hand,  seeing  more  in  her  face  than  her 
voice  interpreted  to  his  sullen  ears,  took  her 
sullenly  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  to  the 
cabin.  Her  e}'es  glanced  around  the  bright 
party-colored  walls,  and  a  faint  smile  came  to 
her  lips  as  she  puf  aside  her  bonnet,  adorned 
with  a  companion  pinion  of  the  bright  wings 
that  covered  it. 

"  Which  is  Ruth's  bed?  "  she  asked. 

Rand  pointed  to  it. 

u  Lay  me  there  !  " 

Rand  would  have  hesitated,  but,  with  anoth- 
er look  at  her  face,  complied. 

She  la}'  quite  still  a  moment.  Presently  she 
said,  "  Give  me  some  brand}"  or  whiskey !  " 

Rand  was  silent  and  confused. 

"I  forgot,"  she  added  half  bitterly.  "I 
know  you  have  not  that  commonest  and  cheap- 
est of  vices." 

She  la}'  quite  still  again.  Suddenly  she 
raised  herself  partly  on  her  elbow,  and  in  a 
strong,  firm  voice,  said,  "  Rand  !  " 


54       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

44  Yes,  Morale." 

"If  you  are  wise  and  practical,  as  you  as- 
sume to  be,  you  will  do  what  I  ask  you  with- 
out a  question.  If  you  do  it  at  once,  you  may 
save  yourself  and  Ruth  some  trouble,  some 
mortification,  and  perhaps  some  remorse  and 
sorrow.  Do  you  hear  me?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Go  to  the  nearest  doctor,  and  bring  him 
here  with  you." 

"  But  you!  " 

Her  voice  was  strong,  confident,  steady,  and 
patient.  "You  can  safely  leave  me  until 
then." 

In  another  moment  Rand  was  plunging 
down  the  "  slide."  But  it  was  past  midnight 
when  he  struggled  over  the  last  bowlder  up 
the  ascent,  dragging  the  half-exhausted  medi- 
cal wisdom  of  Brown's  Ferry  on  his  arm. 

"I've  been  gone  long,  doctor,"  said  Rand 
feverishly,  "  and  she  looked  so  death-like  when 
I  left.  If  we  should  be  too  late  !  " 

The  doctor  stopped  suddenly,  lifted  his 
head,  and  pricked  his  ears  like  a  hound  on  a 
peculiar  scent.  "We  are  too  late,"  he  said, 
with  a  slight  professional  laugh. 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  55 

Indignant  and  horrified,  Rand  turned  upon 
him. 

"  Listen,"  said  the  doctor,  lifting  his  hand. 

Rand  listened,  so  intently  that  he  heard  the 
familiar  moan  of  the  river  below ;  but  the 
great  stony  field  lay  silent  before  him.  And 
then,  borne  across  its  bare  barren  bosom, 
like  its  own  articulation,  came  faintly  the  fee- 
ble wail  of  a  new-born  babe. 


56       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 


III. 

STORM. 

THE  doctor  hurried  ahead  in  the  darkness. 
Rand,  who  had  stopped  paralyzed  at  the 
ominous  sound,  started  forward  again  mechan- 
ically ;  .but  as  the  cry  arose  again  more  dis- 
tinctly, and  the  full  significance  of  the  doctor's 
words  came  to  him,  he  faltered,  stopped,  and, 
with  cheeks  burning  with  shame  and  helpless 
indignation,  sank  upon  a  stone  beside  the 
shaft,  and,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands, 
fairly  gave  way  to  a  burst  of  boyish  tears. 
Yet  even  then  the  recollection  that  he  had 
not  cried  since,  years  ago,  his  mother's  dying 
hands  had  joined  his  and  Ruth's  childish 
fingers  together,  stung  him  fiercely,  and  dried 
his  tears  in  angry  heat  upon  his  cheeks. 

How  long  he  sat  there,  he  remembered  not ; 
what  he  thought,  he  recalled  not.  But  the 


STORM.  57 

wildest  and  most  extravagant  plans  and  re- 
solves availed  him  nothing  in  the  face  of  this 
forever  desecrated  home,  and  this  shameful 
culmination  of  his  ambitious  life  on  the  moan- 
tain.  Once  he  thought  of  flight ;  but  the 
reflection  that  he  would  still  abandon  his 
brother  to  shame,  perhaps  a  self-contented 
shame,  checked  him  hopelessly.  Could  he 
avert  the  future  ?  He  must  ;  but  how  ?  Yet 
he  could  only  sit  and  stare  into  the  darkness 
in  dumb  abstraction. 

Sitting  there,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  peculiar 
object  in  a  crevice  of  the  ledge  beside  the 
shaft.  It  was  the  tin  pail  containing  his 
dinner,  which,  according  to  their  custom,  it 
was  the  duty  of  the  brother  who  staid  above 
ground  to  prepare  and  place  for  the  brother 
who  worked  below.  Ruth  must,  consequently, 
have  put  it  there  before  he  left  that  morning, 
and  Rand  had  overlooked  it  while  sharing  the 
repast  of  the  strangers  at  noon.  At  the  sight 
of  this  dumb  witness  of  their  mutual  cares 
.and  labors,  Rand  sighed,  half  in  brotherly 
sorrow,  half  in  a  selfish  sense  of  injury  done 
him.  He  took  up  the  pail  mechanically,  re- 


58  *    THE  TWINS  OF    TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

moved  its  cover,  and  —  started  ;  for  on  top 
of  the  carefully  bestowed  provisions  lay  a 
little  note,  addressed  to  him  in  Ruth's  peculiar 
scrawl. 

He  opened  it  with  feverish  hands,  held  it 
in  the  light  of  the  peaceful  moon,  and  read  as 
follows :  — 

DEAR,  DEAR  BROTHER, — When  you  read  this,  I 
shall  be  far  away.  I  go  because  I  shall  not  stay 
to  disgrace  you,  and  because  the  girl  that  I  brought 
trouble  upon  has  gone  away  too,  to  hide  her  dis- 
grace and  mine;  and  where  she  goes,  Band,  I 
ought  to  follow  her,  and,  please  God,  I  will!  I 
am  not  as  wise  or  as  good  as  you  are,  but  it  seems 
the  best  I  can  do  ;  and  God*  bless  you,  dear  old 
Randy,  boy  !  Times  and  times  again  I've  wanted 
to  tell  you  all,  and  reckoned  to  do  so  ;  but  whether 
you  was  sitting  before  me  in  the  cabin,  or  working 
beside  me  in  the  drift,  I  couldn't  get  to  look  upon 
your  honest  face,  dear  brother,  and  say  what  things 
I'd  been  keeping  from  you  so  long.  I'll  stay  away 
until  I've  done  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  if  you  can 
say,  '"Come,  Ruth,"  I  will  come;  but,  until  you  can 
say  it,  the  mountain  is  yours,  Randy,  boy,  the  mine  is 
yours,  the  cabin  is  yours,  all  is  yours.  Rub  out  the 
old  chalk-marks,  Rand,  as  I  rub  them  out  here  in 
my  —  [A  few  words  here  were  blurred  and  indistinct, 
as  if  the  moon  had  suddenly  become  dim-eyed  too]. 
God  bless  you,  brother! 


STORM.  59 

P.S. — You  know  I  mean  Mornie  all  the  time. 
It's  she  I'm  going  to  seek ;  but  don't  you  think  so  bad 
of  her  as  you  do,  I  am  so  much  worse  than  she.  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  that  all  along,  but  I  didn't  dare. 
She's  run  away  from  the  Ferry  half  crazy;  said  she 
was  going  to  Sacramento,  and  I  am  going  there  to 
find  her  alive  or  dead.  Forgive  me,  brother!  Don't 
throw  this  down  right  away;  hold  it  in  your  hand  a 
moment,  Randy,  boy,  and  try  hard  to  think  it's  my 
hand  in  yours.  And  so  good-by,  and  God  bless  you, 
old  Randy ! 

From  your  loving  brother, 

RUTH. 


A  deep  sense  of  relief  overpowered  every 
other  feeling  in  Rand's  breast.  It  was  clear 
that  Ruth  had  not  yet  discovered  the  truth  of 
Morme's  flight :  he  was  on  his  way  to  Sacra- 
mento, and,  before  he  could  return,  Mornie 
could  be  removed.  Once  despatched  in  some 
other  direction,  with  Rand  once  more  returned 
and  under  his  brother's  guidance,  the  sepa- 
ration could  be  made  easy  and  final.  There 
was  evidently  no  marriage  as  3Tet ;  and  now, 
the  fear  of  an  immediate  meeting  over,  there 
should  be  none.  For  Rand  had  already 
feared  this ;  had  recalled  the  few  infelicitous 


60       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

relations,  legal  and  illegal,  which  were  com- 
mon to  the  adjoining  camp, — the  flagrantly 
miserable  life  of  the  husband  of  a  San  Fran- 
cisco anonyma  who  lived  in  style  at  the  Fer- 
ry, the  shameful  carousals  and  more  shame- 
ful quarrels  of  the  Frenchman  and  Mexican 
woman  who  "kept  house"  at  "  the  Cross- 
ing," the  awful  spectacle  of  the  three  half- 
bred  Indian  children  who  pla}~ed  before  the 
cabin  of  a  fellow  miner  and  townsman.  Thank 
Heaven,  the  Eagle's  Nest  on  Table  Mountain 
should  never  be  pointed  at  from  the  valley  as 
another  — 

A  heavy  hand  upon  his  arm  brought  him 
trembling  to  his  feet.  He  turned,  and  met  the 
half-anxious,  half-contemptuous  glance  of  the 
doctor. 

"I'm  sorry  to  disturb  3-011,"  he  said  dryly ; 
"but  it's  about  time  3-011  or  somebod}'  else 
put  in  an  appearance  at  that  cabin.  Luckily 
for  7ier,  she's  one  woman  in  a  thousand  ;  has 
had  her  wits  about  her  better  than  some  folks 
I  know,  and  has  left  me  little  to  do  but  make 
her  comfortable.  But  she's  gone  through  too 
much,  —  fought  her  little  fight  too  gallantly, — 


STORM.  61 

is  altogether  too  much  of  a  trump  to  be  played 
off  upon  now.  So  rise  up  out  of  that,  young 
man,  pick  up  your  scattered  faculties,  and 
fetch  a  woman  —  some  sensible  creature  of  her 
own  sex  —  to  look  after  her ;  for,  without 

wishing  to  be  personal,  I'm  d d  if  I  trust 

her  to  the  likes  of  you." 

There  was  no  mistaking  Dr.  Duchesne's 
voice  and  manner ;  and  Rand  was  affected  by 
it,  as  most  people  were  throughout  the  valley 
of  the  Stanislaus.  But  he  turned  upon  him 
his  frank  and  boyish  face,  and  said  simply, 
u  But  I  don't  know  any  woman,  or  where  to 
get  one." 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  again.  u  Well, 
I'll  find  you  some  one,"  he  said,  softening. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  said  Rand. 

The  doctor  was  disappearing.  With  an 
effort  Rand  recalled  him.  "  One  moment, 
doctor."  He  hesitated,  and  his  cheeks  were 
glowing.  "You'll  please  sa}^  nothing  about 
this  down  there" — he  pointed  to  the  valley 
—  "  for  a  time.  And  you'll  say  to  the  woman 
you  send  '.'  — - 

Dr.   Duchesne,   whose    resolute    lips   were 


62       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

sealed  upon  the  secrets  of  half  Tuolumne 
County,  interrupted  him  scornfully.  "  I  can- 
not answer  for  the  woman  —  you  must  talk  to 
her  yourself.  As  for  me,  generally  I  keep  my 
professional  visits  to  myself ;  but "  —  he  laid 
his  hand  on  Rand's  arm  —  "  if  I  find  out  you're 
putting  on  any  airs  to  that  poor  creature,  if,  on 
my  next  visit,  her  lips  or  her  pulse  tell  me  }TOU 
haven't  been  acting  on  the  square  to  her,  I'll 
drop  a  hint  to  druken  old  Nixon  where  his 
daughter  is  hidden.  I  reckon  she  could  stand 
his  brutality  better  than  3'ours.  Good-night !  " 
In  another  moment  he  was  gone.  Rand, 
who  had  held  back  his  quick  tongue,  feeling 
himself  in  the  power  of  this  man,  once  more 
alone,  sank  on  a  rock,  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands.  Recalling  himself  in  a  moment, 
he  rose,  wiped  his  hot  e}Telids,  and  staggered 
toward  the  cabin.  It  was  quite  still  now.  He 
paused  on  the  topmost  step,  and  listened  :  there 
was  no  sound  from  the  ledge,  or  the  Eagle's 
Nest  that  clung  to  it.  Half  timidly  he  de- 
scended the  winding  steps,  and  paused  before 
the  door  of  the  cabin.  "Morale/'  he  said, 
in  a  dry,  metallic  voice,  whose  only  indication 


STORM.  63 

of  the  presence  of  sickness  was  in  the  lowness 
of  its  pitch,  —  "  Mornie  !  "  There  was  no  re- 
ply. "Mornie,"  he  repeated  impatiently, 
"it's  me,  —  Rand.  If  you  want  any  thing, 
you're  to  call  me.  I  am  just  outside."  Still 
no  answer  came  from  the  silent  cabin.  He 
pushed  open  the  door  gentty,  hesitated,  and 
stepped  over  the  threshold. 

A  change  in  the  interior  of  the  cabin  within 
the  last  few  hours  showed  a  new  presence. 
The  guns,  shovels,  picks,  and  blankets  had 
disappeared  ;  the  two  chairs  were  drawn  against 
the  wall,  the  table  placed  by  the  bedside.  The 
swinging-lantern  was  shaded  towards  the  bed, 
—  the  object  of  Rand's  attention.  On  that 
bed,  his  brother's  bed,  lay  a  helpless  woman, 
pale  from  the  long  black  hair  that  matted  her 
damp  forehead,  and  clung  to  her  hollow  cheeks. 
Her  face  was  turned  to  the  wall,  so  that  the 
softened  light  fell  upon  her  profile,  which  to 
Rand  at  that  moment  seemed  even  noble  and 
strong.  But  the  next  moment  his  eye  fell 
upon  the  shoulder  and  arm  that  lay  nearest  to 
him,  and  the  little  bundle,  swathed  in  flannel, 
that  it  clasped  to  her  breast.  His  brow  grew 


64       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

dark  as  he  gazed.  The  sleeping  woman 
moved.  Perhaps  it  was  an  instinctive  con- 
sciousness of  his  presence ;  perhaps  it  was 
only  the  current  of  cold  air  from  the  opened 
door :  but  she  shuddered  slightly,  and,  still 
unconscious,  drew  the  child  as  if  away  from 
him,  and  nearer  to  her  breast.  The  shamed 
blood  rushed  to  Rand's  face  ;  and  saying  half 
aloud,  "  I'm  not  going  to  take  your  precious 
babe  away  from  you,"  he  turned  in  half-boyish 
pettishness  away.  Nevertheless  he  came  back 
again  shortty  to  the  bedside,  and  gazed  upon 
them  both.  She  certainly  did  look  altogether 
more  ladylike,  and  less  aggressive,  lying  there 
so  still :  sickness,  that  cheap  refining  process 
of  some  natures,  was  not  unbecoming  to  her. 
But  this  bundle  !  A  boyish  curiosity,  stronger 
than  even  his  strong  objection  to  the  whole 
episode,  was  steadily  impelling  him  to  lift  the 
blanket  from  it.  "I  suppose  she'd  waken  if 
I  did,"  said  Rand;  "but  I'd  like  to  know 
what  right  the  doctor  had  to  wrap  it  up  in  my 
best  flannel  shirt."  This  fresh  grievance,  the 
fruit  of  his  curiosity,  sent  him  away  again  to 
meditate  on  the  ledge.  After  a  few  moments 


STORM.  65 

he  returned  again,  opened  the  cupboard  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed  softly,  took  thence  a  piece  of 
chalk,  and  scrawled  in  large  letters  upon  the 
door  of  the  cupboard,  "  If  you  want  any  thing, 
sing  out:  I'm  just  outside.  —  RAND."  This 
done,  he  took  a  blanket  and  bear-skin  from 
the  corner,  and  walked  to  the  door.  But  here 
he  paused,  looked  back  at  the  inscription  (evi- 
dently not  satisfied  with  it),  returned,  took  up 
the  chalk,  added  a  line,  but  rubbed  it  out 
again,  repeated  this  operation  a  few  times  until 
he  produced  the  polite  postcript,  —  u  Hope 
you'll  be  better  soon."  Then  he  retreated  to 
the  ledge,  spread  the  bear-skin  beside  the 
door,  and,  rolling  himself  in  a  blanket,  lit  his 
pipe  for  his  night-long  vigil.  But  Rand, 
although  a  martyr,  a  philosopher,  and  a  moral- 
ist, was  young.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  the 
pipe  dropped  from  his  lips,  and  he  was  asleep. 

He  awoke  with  a  strange  sense  of  heat  and 
suffocation,  and  with  difficulty  shook  off  his 
covering.  Rubbing  his  e}Tes,  he  discovered 
that  an  extra  blanket  had  in  some  mysterious 
way  been  added  in  the  night ;  and  beneath  his 


66       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

head  was  a  pillow  he  had  no  recollection  of 
placing  there  when  he  went  to  sleep.  By 
degrees  the  events  of  the  past  night  forced 
themselves  upon  his  benumbed  faculties,  and 
he  sat  np.  The  sun  was  riding  high  ;  the  door 
of  the  cabin  was  open.  Stretching  himself,  he 
staggered  to  his  feet,  and  looked  in  through 
the  yawning  crack  at  the  hinges.  He  rubbed 
his  e}~es  again.  Was  he  still  asleep,  and  fol- 
lowed by  a  dream  of  yesterday?  For  there, 
even  in  the  very  attitude  he  remembered  to 
have  seen  her  sitting  at  her  luncheon  oii  the 
previous  day,  with  her  knitting  on  her  lap,  sat 
Mrs.  Sol  Saunders  !  What  did  it  mean?  or 
had  she  really  been  sitting  there  ever  since, 
and  all  the  events  that  followed  only  a  dream  ? 
A  hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm  ;  and,  turning, 
he  saw  the  murky  black  eyes  and  Indian-inked 
beard  of  Sol  beside  him.  That  gentleman  put 
his  finger  on  his  lips  with  a  theatrical  gesture, 
and  then,  slowly  retreating  in  the  well-known 
manner  of  the  buried  Majesty  of  Denmark, 
waved  him,  like  another  Hamlet,  to  a  remoter 
part  of  the  ledge.  This  reached,  he  grasped 
Rand  warmly  by  the  hand,  shook  it  heartily, 
and  sMd.  "  It's  all  right,  my  boy  ;  all  right ! :> 


STORM.  67 

"But"  — began  Rand.  The  hot  blood 
flowed  to  his  cheeks :  he  stammered,  and 
stopped  short. 

"It's  all  right,  I  say !  Don't  you  mind! 
We'll  pull  you  through." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Sol !  what  does  she  "  — 

"  Rosey  has  taken  the  matter  in  hand,  sir  ; 
and  when  that  woman  takes  a  matter  in  hand, 
whether  it's  a  baby  or  a  rehearsal,  sir,  she 
makes  it  buzz." 

u  But  how  did  she  know?"  stammered 
Rand. 

"  How?  Well,  sir,  the  scene  opened  some- 
thing like  this,"  said  Sol  professionally. 
"  Curtain  rises  on  me  and  Mrs.  Sol.  Domes- 
tic interior :  practicable  chairs,  table,  books, 
newspapers.  Enter  Dr.  Duchesne,  —  eccentric 
character  part,  very  popular  with  the  boys,  — • 
tells  off-hand  affecting  story  of  strange  woman 
—  one  'more  unfortunate' — having  baby  in 
Eagle's  Nest,  lonely  place  on  '  peaks  of  Snow- 
don,'  midnight;  eagles  screaming,  }^ou  know, 
and  far  down  unfathomable  depths  ;  only  at- 
tendant, cold-blooded  ruffian,  evidently  father 
of  child,  with  sinister  designs  on  child  and 
mother." 


68       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"He  didn't  say  that!"  said  Rand,  with  an 
agonized  smile. 

"Order!  Sit  .down  in  front!"  continued 
Sol  easily.  "Mrs.  Sol  —  highly  interested, 
a  mother  herself — demands  name  of  place. 
4  Table  Mountain.'  No  ;  it  cannot  be  —  it  is  ! 
Excitement.  Mj'stery  !  Rosey  rises  to  occa- 
sion —  comes  to  front :  '  Some  one  must  go  ; 
I  —  I  —  will  go  nryself !  '  M}'self,  coming  to 
centre  :  '  Not  alone,  dearest ;  I  —  I  will  accom- 
pany j'ou !  '  A  shriek  at  right  upper  centre. 
Enter  the  '  Marysville  Pet.'  4I  have  heard 
all.  'Tis  a  Dase  calumny.  It  cannot  be  he  — 
Randolph  !  Never  !  '  — '  Dare  you  accompany 
us  ?>__<!  wni!'  Tableau. 

"  Is  Miss  Euphemia —  here  ?  "  gasped  Rand, 
practical  even  in  his  embarrassment. 

"  Or-r-rder  !  Scene  second.  Summit  of 
mountain  —  moonlight.  Peaks  of  Snowdon 
in  distance.  Right  —  lonely  cabin.  Enter 
slowly  up  defile,  Sol,  Mrs.  Sol,  the  'Pet.' 
Advance  slowly  to  cabin.  Suppressed  shriek 
from  the  '  Pet,'  who  rushes  to  recumbent  figure 
—  Left  —  discovered  lying  beside  cabin-door. 
4  'Tis  he  !  Hist !  he  sleeps  !  '  Throws  blanket 


STORM.  69 

over  him,  and  retires  up  stage  —  so."  Here 
Sol  achieved  a  vile  imitation  of  the  "  Pet's  " 
most  enchanting  stage-manner.  "  Mrs.  Sol  ad- 
vances —  Centre  —  throws  open  door.  Shriek  ! 
'  'Tis  Mornie,  the  lost  found  !  '  The  '  Pet ' 
advances  :  '  And  the  father  is  ?  '  —  '  Not 
Rand  !  '  The  '  Pet '  kneeling  :  '  Just  Heaven, 
I  thank  thee  !  '  '  No,  it  is  '  "  — 

"Hush!"  said  Rand  appealingly,  looking 
toward  the  cabin. 

"  Hush  it  is  !  "  said  the  actor  good-natured- 
ly. "  But  it's  all  right,  Mr.  Rand  :  we'll  pull 
you  through." 

Later  in  the  morning,  Rand  learned  that 
Mornie 's  ill-fated  connection  with  the  Star 
Variety  Troup  had  been  a  source  of  anxiety 
to  Mrs.  Sol,  and  she  had  reproached  herself 
for  the  girl's  infelicitous  debut. 

"  But,  Lord  bless  you,  Mr.  Rand  !  "  said  Sol, 
"  it  was  all  in  the  way  of  business.  She  came 
to  us  —  was  fresh  and  new.  Her  chance,  look- 
ing at  it  professionally,  was  as  good  as  any 
amateur's ;  but  what  with  her  relations  here, 
and  her  bein'  known,  she  didn't  take.  We 
lost  money  on  her !  It's  natural  she  should 


70       THE  TWINS  OF   TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

feel  a  IHtle  ugly.  We  all  do  when  we  get 
sorter  kicked  back  onto  ourselves,  and  find  we 
can't  stand  alone.  Wiry,  you  wouldn't  believe 
it,"  he  continued,  with  a  moist  twinkle  of  his 
black  eyes  ;  ' '  but  the  night  I  lost  my  little 
Rosey,  of  diphtheria  in  Gold  Hill,  the  child 
was  down  on  the  bills  for  a  comic  song ;  and  I 
had  to  drag  Mrs.  Sol  on,  cut  up  as  she  was, 
and  filled  up  with  that  much  of  Old  Bourbon 
to  keep  her  nerves  stiff,  so  she  could  do  an  old 
gag  with  me  to  gain  time,  and  make  up  the 
4  variety.'  Wiry,  sir,  when  I  came  to  the  front, 
I  was  ugly !  And  when  one  of  the  boys  in 
the  front  row  sang  out,  '  Don't  expose  that 
poor  child  to  the  night  air,  Sol,' — meaning 
Mrs.  Sol,  — I  acted  ugry.  No,  sir,  it's  human 
nature  ;  and  it  was  quite  natural  that  Morale, 
when  she  caught  sight  o'  Mrs.  Sol's  face  last 
night,  should  rise  up  and  cuss  us  both.  Lord, 
if  she'd  only  acted  like  that!  But  the  old 
lacty  got  her  quiet  at  last ;  and,  as  I  said 
before,  it's  all  right,  and  we'll  pull  her  through. 
But  don't  you  thank  us  :  it's  a  little  matter 
betwixt  us  and  Mornie.  We've  got  every 
thing  fixed,  so  that  Mrs.  Sol  can  stay  right 


STORM.  71 

along.  We'll  pull  Mornie  through,  and  get 
her  away  from  this,  and  her  baby  too,  as  soon 
as  we  can.  You  won't  get  mad  if  I  tell  3^011 
something?"  said  Sol,  with  a  half-apologetic 
laugh.  "  Mrs.  Sol  was  rather  down  on  you 
the  other  da}',  hated  you  on  sight,  and  pre- 
ferred your  brother  to  you ;  but  when  she 
found  he'd  run  off  and  left  you,  you, — don't 
mind  my  sayin,'  — a  '  mere  bo}V  to  take  what 
oughter  be  his  place,  why,  she  just  wheeled 
round  agin'  him.  I  suppose  he  got  flustered, 
and  couldn't  face  the  music.  Never  left  a 
word  of  explanation  ?  Well,  it  wasn't  exactly 
square,  though  I  tell  the  old  wdinan  it's  hu- 
man nature.  He  might  have  dropped  a  hint 
where  he  was  goin'.  Well,  there,  I  won't  say 
a  word  more  agin'  him.  I  know  how  you 
feel.  Hush  it  is." 

It  was  the  firm  conviction  of  the  simple- 
minded  Sol,  that  no  one  knew  the  various  natu- 
ral indications  of  human  passion  better  than 
himself.  Perhaps  it  was  one  of  the  fallacies  of 
his  profession,  that  the  expression  of  all  human 
passion  was  limited  to  certain  conventional 
signs  and  sounds.  Consequently,  when  Rand 


72       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

colored  violently,  became  confused,  stam- 
mered, and  at  last  turned  hastily  away,  the 
good-hearted  fellow  instantl}'  recognized  the 
unfailing  evidence  of  modesty  and  innocence 
embarrassed  by  recognition.  As  for  Rand,  I 
fear  his  shame  was  only  momentary.  Con- 
firmed in  the  belief  of  his  ulterior  wisdom  and 
virtue,  his  first  embarrassment  over,  he  was 
not  displeased  with  this  half-way  tribute,  and 
really  believed  that  the  time  would  come  when 
Mr.  Sol  should  eventually  praise  his  sagacity 
and  reservation,  and  acknowledge  that  he  was 
something  more  than  a  mere  boy.  He,  never- 
theless, shrank  from  meeting  Mornie  that 
morning,  and  was  glad  that  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Sol  relieved  him  from  that  duty. 

The  day  passed  uneventfully.  Rand  busied 
himself  in  his  usual  avocations,  and  con- 
structed a  temporary  shelter  for  himself  and 
Sol  beside  the  shaft,  besides  rudely  shaping  a 
few  necessary  articles  of  furniture  for  Mrs. 
Sol. 

u  It  will  be  a  little  spell  }-et  afore  Morale's 
able  to  be  moved,"  suggested  Sol,  "  and  you 
might  as  well  be  comfortable." 


STORM.  73 

Rand  sighed  at  this  prospect,  yet  presently 
forgot  himself  in  the  good  humor  of  his  com- 
panion, whose  admiration  for  himself  he  began 
to  patronizingly  admit.  There  was  no  sense  of 
degradation  in  accepting  the  friendship  of  this 
man  who  had  travelled  so  far,  seen  so  much, 
and  yet,  as  a  practical  man  of  the  world,  Rand 
felt  was  so  inferior  to  himself.  The  absence  of 
Miss  Euphemia,  who  had  early  left  the  moun- 
tain, was  a  source  of  odd,  half-definite  relief. 
Indeed,  when  he  closed  his  eyes  to  rest  that 
night,  it  was  with  a  sense  that  the  reality  of 
his  situation  was  not  as  bad  as  he  had  feared. 
Once  only,  the  figure  of  his  brother  —  haggard, 
weary,  and  footsore,  on  his  hopeless  quest, 
wandering  in  lonely  trails  and  lonelier  settle- 
ments —  came  across  his  fanc}r ;  but  with  it 
came  the  greater  fear  of  his  return,  and  the 
pathetic  figure  was  banished.  "  And,  besides, 
he's  in  Sacramento  by  this  time,  and  like  as 
not  forgotten  us  all,"  he  muttered  ;  and,  twin- 
ing this  poppy  and  mandragora  around  his 
pillow,  he  fell  asleep. 

His  spirits  had  quite  returned  the  next 
morning,  and  once  or  twice  he  found  himself 


74       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

singing  while  at  work  in  the  shaft.  The  fear 
that  Ruth  might  return  to  the  mountain  before 
he  could  get  rid  of  Mornie,  and  the  slight  anx- 
iety that  had  grown  upon  him  to  know  some- 
thing of  his  brother's  movements,  and  to  be 
able  to  govern  them  as  he  wished,  caused  him 
to  hit  upon  the  plan  of  constructing  an  ingen- 
ious advertisement  to  be  published  in  the  San 
Francisco  journals,  wherein  the  missing  Ruth 
should  be  advised  that  news  of  his  quest  should 
be  communicated  to  him  by  "a  friend, " 
through  the  same  medium,  after  an  interval 
of  two  weeks.  Full  of  this  amiable  intention, 
he  returned  to  the  surface  to  dinner.  Here, 
to  his  momentary  confusion,  he  met  Miss 
Euphemia,  who,  in  absence  of  Sol,  was  assist- 
ing Mrs.  Sol  in  the  details  of  the  household. 

If  the  honest  frankness  with  which  that 
young  kuty  greeted  him  was  not  enough  to 
relieve  his  embarrassment,  he  would  have 
forgotten  it  in  the  utterly  new  and  changed 
aspect  she  presented.  Her  extravagant  walk- 
ing-costume of  the  previous  day  was  replaced 
by  some  bright  calico,  a  little  white  apron,  and 
a  broad-brimmed  straw-hat,  which  seemed  to 


STORM.  75 

Rand,  in  some  odd  fashion,  to  restore  her  ori- 
ginal girlish  simplicity.  The  change  was  cer- 
tainly not  unbecoming  to  her.  If  her  waist  was 
not  as  tightly  pinched,  a  la  mode,  there  still 
was  an  honest,  youthful  plumpness  about  it ; 
her  step  was  freer  for  the  absence  of  her  high- 
heel  boots  ;  and  even  the  hand  she  extended 
to  Rand,  if  not  quite  so  small  as  in  her  tight 
gloves,  and  a  little  brown  from  exposure,  was 
magnetic  in  its  strong,  kindly  grasp.  There 
was  perhaps  a  slight  suggestion  of  the  practi- 
cal Mr.  Sol  in  her  wholesome  presence ;  and 
Rand  could  not  help  wondering  if  Mrs.  Sol 
had  ever  been  a  Gold  Hill  "  Pet  "  before  her 
marriage  with  Mr.  Sol.  The  young  girl  no- 
ticed his  curious  glance. 

"  You  never  saw  me  in  nry  rehearsal  dress 
before,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  But  I'm  not 
4  company  '  to-da}T,  and  didn't  put  on  my  best 
harness  to  knock  round  in.  I  suppose  I  look 
dreadful." 

"I  don't  think  you  look  bad,"  said  Rand 
simply. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Euphemia,  with  a  laugh 
and  a  courtesy.  "But  this  isn't  getting  the 
dinner." 


76       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

As  part  of  that  operation  evidently  was  the 
taking-off  of  her  hat,  the  putting-up  of  some 
thick  blonde  locks  that  had  escaped,  and  the 
rolling-lip  of  her  sleeves  over  a  pair  of  strong, 
rounded  arms,  Rand  lingered  near  her.  All 
trace  of  the  "Pet's"  previous  professional 
coquetry  was  gone,  — perhaps  it  was  only  re- 
placed by  a  more  natural  one  ;  but  as  she 
looked  up,  and  caught  sight  of  Rand's  inter- 
ested face,  she  laughed  again,  and  colored  a 
little.  Slight  as  was  the  blush,  it  was  suffi- 
cient to  kindle  a  sympathetic  fire  in  Rand's 
own  cheeks,  which  was  so  utterly  unexpected 
to  him  that  he  turned  on  his  heel  in  confusion. 
"I  reckon  she  thinks  I'm  soft  and  sill}',  like 
Ruth,"  he  soliloquized,  and,  determining  not 
to  look  at  her  again,  betook  himself  to  a  dis- 
tant and  contemplative  pipe.  In  vain  did 
Miss  Euphemia  address  herself  to  the  ostenta- 
tious getting  of  the  dinner  in  full  view  of  him  ; 
in  vain  did  she  bring  the  coffee-pot  away  from 
the  fire,  and  nearer  Rand,  with  the  apparent 
intention  of  examining  its  contents  in  a  better 
light ;  in  vain,  while  wiping  a  plate,  did  she, 
absorbed  in  the  distant  prospect,  walk  to  the 


STORM.  77 

verge  of  the  mountain,  and  become  statuesque 
and  forgetful.  The  sulky  young  gentleman 
took  no  outward  notice  of  her. 

Mrs.  Sol's  attendance  upon  Mornie  pre- 
vented her  leaving  the  cabin,  and  Rand  and 
Miss  Euphemia  dined  in  the  open  air  alone. 
The  ridiculousness  of  keeping  up  a  formal 
attitude  to  his  solitary  companion  caused  Rand 
to  relax  ;  but,  to  his  astonishment,  the  "  Pet  " 
seemed  to  have  become  correspondingly  dis- 
tant and  formal.  After  a  few  moments  of  dis- 
comfort, Rand,  who  had  eaten  little,  arose, 
and  "  believed  he  would  go  back  to  work." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  "  said  the  Pet,  with  an  indiffer- 
ent air,  "  I  suppose  you  must.  Well,  good-by, 
Mr.  Pinkney." 

Rand  turned.  "  You  are  not  going?"  he 
asked,  in  some  uneasiness. 

"  Pve  got  some  work  to  do  too,"  returned 
Miss  Euphemia  a  little  curtly. 

"But,"  said  the  practical  Rand,  "  I  thought 
you  allowed  that  you  were  fixed  to  stay  until 
to-morrow  ? ' ' 

But  here  Miss  Euphemia,  with  rising  color 
slight  acerbity  of  voice,  was  not  aware 


78       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

that  she  was  "  fixed  to  stay  "  anywhere,  least 
of  all  when  she  was  in  the  way.  More  than 
that,  she  must  say  —  although  perhaps  it  made 
no  difference,  and  she  ought  not  to  say  it  — 
that  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of  intruding  upon 
gentlemen  who  plainly  gave  her  to  understand 
that  her  compaity  was  not  desirable.  She  did 
not  know  why  she  said  this  —  of  course  it 
could  make  no  difference  to  anybody  who 
didn't,  of  course,  care  —  but  she  only  wanted 
to  say  that  she  only  came  here  because  her 
dear  friend,  her  adopted  mother,  —  and  a  better 
woman  never  breathed,  —  had  come,  and  had 
asked  her  to  stay.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Sol  was 
an  intruder  herself — Mr.  Sol  was  an  intruder 
—  the}7  were  all  intruders  :  she  only  wondered 
that  Mr.  Pinkney  had  borne  with  them  so  long. 
She  knew  it  was  an  awful  thing  to  be  here, 
taking  care  of  a  poor  —  poor,  helpless  woman  ; 
but  perhaps  Mr.  Rand's  brother  might  forgive 
them,  if  he  couldn't.  But  no  matter,  she 
would  go  —  Mr.  Sol  would  go  —  all  would  go  ; 
and  then,  perhaps,  Mr.  Rand  "  — 

She  stopped  breathless ;    she   stopped  with 
the   corner  of  her  apron   against  her  tearful 


STORM.  79 

hazel  eyes  ;  she  stopped  with  —  what  was  more 
remarkable  than  all  —  Rand's  arm  actually 
around  her  waist,  and  his  astonished,  alarmed 
face  within  a  few  inches  of  her  own. 

"Why,  Miss  Euphemia,  Phemie,  my  dear 
girl !  I  never  meant  any  thing  like  that," 
said  Rand  earnestly.  "I  really  didn't  now! 
Come  now  !  "  , 

"  You  never  once  spoke  to  me  when  I  sat 
down,"  said  Miss  Euphemia,  feebly  endeavor- 
ing to  withdraw  from  Rand's  grasp. 

"I  really  didn't!  Oh,  come  now,  look 
here!  I  didn't!  Don't!  There's  a  dear  — 
there ! ' ' 

This  last  conclusive  exposition  was  a  kiss. 
Miss  Euphemia  was  not  quick  enough  to  re- 
lease herself  from  his  arms.  He  anticipated 
that  act  a  full  half-second,  and  had  dropped 
his  own,  pale  and  breathless. 

The  girl  recovered  herself  first.  "  There,  ] 
declare,  I'm  forgetting  Mrs.  Sol's  coffee !  " 
she  exclaimed  hastily,  and,  snatching  up  the 
coffee-pot,  disappeared.  When  she  returned, 
Rand  was  gone.  Miss  Euphemia  busied  her- 
self demurely  in  clearing  up  the  dishes,  with 


80        THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  tail  of  her  eye  sweeping  the  horizon  of  the 
summit  level  around  her.  But  no  Rand  ap- 
peared. Presently  she  began  to  laugh  quietly 
to  herself.  This  occurred  several  times  during 
her  occupation,  which  was  somewhat  pro- 
longed. The  result  of  this  meditative  hilarit}T 
was  summed  up  in  a  somewhat  grave  and 
thoughtful  deduction  as  she  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  cabin  :  "I  do  believe  I'm  the  first 
woman  that  that  boy  ever  kissed." 

Miss  Euphemia  staid  that  day  and  the  next, 
and  Rand  forgot  his  embarrassment.  By  what 
means  I  know  not,  Miss  Euphemia  managed 
to  restore  Rand's  confidence  in  himself  and 
in  her,  and  in  a  little  ramble  on  the  mountain- 
side got  him  to  relate,  albeit  somewhat  reluc- 
tantly, the  particulars  of  his  rescue  of  Mornie 
from  her  dangerous  position  on  the  broken 
trail. 

'  "  And,  if  you  hadn't  got  there  as  soon  as 
you  did,  she'd  have  fallen?  "  asked  the  "  Pet." 

"I  reckon,"  returned  Rand  gloomily: 
"  she  was  sorter  dazed  and  crazed  like." 

"  And  you  saved  her  life?  " 
'  I  suppose  so,  if  you  put  it  that  way," 
said  Rand  sulkily. 


STORM.  81 

"  But  how  did  you  get  her  up  the  mountain 
again  ? ' ' 

"  Oh !  I  got  her  up,"  returned  Rand  mood- 

fly- 

"But  how?  Eeally,  Mr.  Rand,  you  don't 
know  how  interesting  this  is.  It's  as  good  as 
a  play,"  said  the  "  Pet,"  with  a  little  excited 
laugh. 

"  Oh,  I  carried  her  up !  " 

4  c  In  your  arms  ?  ' ' 

"Y-e-e-s." 

Miss  Euphemia  paused,  and  bit  off  the 
stalk  of  a  flower,  made  a  wry  face,  and  threw 
it  away  from  her  in  disgust. 

Then  she  dug  a  few  tiny  holes  in  the  earth 
with  her  parasol,  and  buried  bits  of  the  flower- 
stalk  in  them,  as  if  they  had  been  tender 
memories.  "I  suppose  you  knew  Mornie 
very  well?  "  she  asked. 

"I  used  to  run  across  her  in  the  woods," 
responded  Rand  shortly,  "  a  year  ago.  I 
didn't  know  her  so  w§ll  then  as" —  He 
stopped. 

"  As  what?  As  noiv?  "  asked  the  "  Pet  " 
abruptly.  Rand,  who  was  coloring  over  his 


82       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

narrow  escape  from  a  topic  which  a  delicate 
kindness  of  Sol  had  excluded  from  their  inter- 
course on  the  mountain,  stammered,  "  as  you 
do,  I  meant." 

The  "  Pet  "  tossed  her  head  a  little,  "  Oh ! 
I  don't  know  her  at  all  —  except  through  Sol." 

Rand  stared  hard  at  this.  The  "  Pet,"  who 
was  looking  at  him  intently,  said,  "  Show  me 
the  place  where  j'ou  saw  Mornie  clinging  that 
night." 

"It's  dangerous,"  suggested  Rand. 

"You  mean  I'd  be  afraid!  Try  me!  I 
don't  believe  she  was  so  dreadfully  fright- 
ened!" 

"  Wh}'?  "  asked  Rand,  in  astonishment. 

4 '  Oh  —  because  ' '  — 

Rand  sat  down  in  vague  wonderment. 

"Show  it  to  me,"  continued  the  "Pet," 
"or  — rilfinditafcme/" 

Thus  challenged,  he  rose,  and,  after  a  few 
moments'  climbing,  stood  with  her  upon  the 
trail.  "  You  see  that  thorn-bush  where  the 
rock  has  fallen  away.  It  was  just  there.  It 
is  not  safe  to  go  farther.  No,  really !  Miss 
Euphemia  !  Please  don't !  It's  almost  cer- 
tain death!" 


STORM.  83 

But  the  giddy  girl  had  darted  past  him,  and, 
face  to  the  wall  of  the  cliff,  was  creeping 
along  the  dangerous  path.  Rand  followed 
mechanically.  Once  or  twice  the  trail  crum- 
bled beneath  her  feet ;  but  she  clung  to  a  pro- 
jecting root  of  chaparral,  and  laughed.  She 
had  almost  reached  her  elected  goal,  when, 
slipping,  the  treacherous  chaparral  she  clung 
to  yielded  in  her  grasp,  and  Rand,  with  a 
cry,  sprung  forward.  But  the  next  instant 
she  quickly  transferred  her  hold  to  a  cleft  in 
the  cliff,  and  was  safe.  Not  so  her  compan- 
ion. The  soil  beneath  him,  loosened  by  the 
impulse  of  his  spring,  slipped  away :  he  was 
falling  with  it,  when  she  caught  him  sharply 
with  her  disengaged  hand,  and  together  they 
scrambled  to  a  more  secure  footing. 

44 1  could  have  reached  it  alone,"  said  the 
"  Pet,"  "  if  you'd  left  me  alone." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  we're  saved  f"  said  Rand 
gravely. 

"  And  without  a  rope,"  said  Miss  Euphemia 
significantly. 

Rand  did  not  understand  her.  But,  as  they 
slowly  returned  to  the  summit,  he  stammered 


84       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

out  the  always  difficult  thanks  of  a  man  who 
has  been  physically  helped  by  one  of  the 
weaker  sex.  Miss  Euphemia  was  quick  to 
see  her  error. 

' '  I  might  have  made  you  lose  your  footing 
by  catching  at  you,"  she  said  meekly.  "  But 
I  was  so  frightened  for  you,  and  could  not  help 
it." 

The  superior  animal,  thoroughly  bam- 
boozled, thereupon  complimented  her  on  her 
dexterity. 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing!"  she  said,  with  a 
sigh.  "I  used  to  do  the  flying-trapeze  busi- 
ness with  papa  when  I  was  a  child,  and  I've 
not  forgotten  it."  With  this  and  other  confi- 
dences of  her  early  life,  in  which  Rand  be- 
tra}Ted  considerable  interest,  the}'  beguiled  the 
tedious  ascent.  "  I  ought  to  have  made  }T>u 
carry  me  up,"  said  the  lady, .  with  a  little 
laugh,  when  they  reached  the  summit;  "but 
you  haven't  known  me  as  long  as  3*011  have 
Morale,  have  you?"  With  this  mysterious 
speech  she  bade  Rand  "  good-night,"  and  hur- 
ried off  to  the  cabin. 

And  so  a  week  passed  by,  —  the  week  so 


STORM.  85 

dreaded  by  Rand,  yet  passed  so  pleasantly, 
that  at  times  it  seemed  as  if  that  dread  were 
only  a  trick  of  his  fancy,  or  as  if  the  circum- 
stances that  surrounded  him  were  different 
from  what  he  believed  them  to  be.  On  the 
seventh  day  the  doctor  had  staid  longer  than 
usual ;  and  Rand,  who  had  been  sitting  with 
Euphenria  on  the  ledge  by  the  shaft,  watching 
the  sunset,  had  barely  time  to  withdraw  his 
hand  from  hers,  as  Mrs.  Sol,  a  trifle  pale  and 
wearied-looking,  approached  him. 

"I  don't  like  to  trouble  you,"  she  said, — 
indeed,  they  liad  seldom  troubled  him  with  the 
details  of  Mornie's  convalescence,  or  even  her 
needs  and  requirements,  —  "  but  the  doctor  is 
alarmed  about  Mornie,  and  she  has  asked  to 
see  you.  I  think  you'd  better  go  in  and 
speak  to  her.  You  know,"  continued  Mrs. 
Sol  delicately,  "you  haven't  been  in  there 
since  the  night  she  was  taken  sick,  and  maybe 
a  new  face  might  do  her  good." 

The  guilty  blood  flew  to  Rand's  face  as  he 
stammered,  "  I  thought  I'd  be  in  the  way. 
I  didn't  believe  she  cared  much  to  see  me.  Is 
she  worse?  " 


86       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"  The  doctor  is  looking  very  anxious,"  said 
Mrs.  Sol  simply. 

The  blood  returned  from  Rand's  face,  and 
settled  around  his  heart.  He  turned  very 
pale.  He  had  consoled  himself  always  for  his 
complicity  in  Ruth's  absence,  that  he  was 
taking  good  care  of  Mornie,  or  —  what  is 
considered  by  most  selfish  natures  an  equiva- 
lent—  permitting  or  encouraging  some  one 
else  to  ' '  take  good  care  of  her ; ' '  but  here 
was  a  contingency  utterly  unforeseen.  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  this  4 '  taking  good  care  ' ' 
of  her  could  result  in  any  thing  but  a  perfect 
solution  of  her  troubles,  or  that  there  could 
be  any  future  to  her  condition  but  one  of 
recovery.  But  what  if  she  should  die?  A 
sudden  and  helpless  sense  of  his  responsibility 
to  Ruth,  to  her,  brought  him  trembling  to 
his  feet. 

He  hurried  to  the  cabin,  where  Mrs.  Sol 
left  him  with  a  word  of  caution:  "You'll 
find  her  changed  and  quiet,  —  very  quiet.  If 
I  was  you,  I  wouldn't  say  any  thing  to  bring 
back  her  old  self." 

The  change  which  Rand  saw  was  so  great, 


STORM.  87 

the  face  that  was  turned  to  him  so  quiet,  that, 
with  a  new  fear  upon  him,  he  would  have 
preferred  the  savage  eyes  and  reckless  mien 
of  the  old  Mornie  whom  he  hated.  With  his 
habitual  impulsiveness  he  tried  to  say  some- 
thing that  should  express  that  fact  not  un- 
kindly, but  faltered,  and  awkwardly  sank  into 
the  chair  b}-  her  bedside. 

u  I  don't  wonder  }'ou  stare  at  me  now,"  she 
said  in  a  far-off  voice.  "It  seems  to  you 
strange  to  see  me  lying  here  so  quiet.  You 
are  thinking  how  wild  I  was  when  I  came 
here  that  night.  I  must  have  been  crazy,  I 
think.  I  dreamed  that  I  said  dreadful  things 
to  you ;  but  you  must  forgive  me,  and  not 
mind  it.  I  was  crazy  then."  She  stopped, 
and  folded  the  blanket  between  her  thin 
fingers.  "I  didn't  ask  you  to  come  here  to 
tell  3Tou  that,  or  to  remind  you  of  it ;  but  — 
but  when  I  was  crazy,  I  said  so  many  worse, 
dreadful  things  of  him;  and  }TOU  —  you  will 
be 'left  behind  to  tell  him  of  it." 

Rand  was  vaguely  murmuring  something  to 
the  effect  that  "  he  knew  she  didn't  mean  any 
thing,"  that  "  she  mustn't  think  of  it  again," 


88       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

that  "  he'd  forgotten  all  about  it,"  when  she 
stopped  him  with  a  tired  gesture. 

"  Perhaps  "I  was  wrong  to  think,  that,  after 
I  am  gone,  you  would  care  to  tell  him  any 
thing.  Perhaps  I'm  wrong  to  think  of  it  at 
all,  or  to  care  what  he  will  think  of  me,  except 
for  the  sake  of  the  child  —  his  child,  Rand  — 
that  I  must  leave  behind  me.  He  will  know 
that  it  never  abused  him.  No,  God  bless  its 
sweet  heart !  it  never  was  wild  and  wicked 
and  hateful,  like  its  cruel,  crazy  mother. 
And  he  will  love  it ;  and  you,  perhaps,  will 
love  it  too — just  a  little,  Rand!  Look  at 
it ! ' '  She  tried  to  raise  the  helpless  bundle 
beside  her  in  her  arms,  but  failed.  "You 
must  lean  over,"  she  said  faintly  to  Rand. 
"  It  looks  like  him,  doesn't  it?  " 

Rand,  with  wondering,  embarrassed  e}Tes, 
tried  to  see  some  resemblance,  in  the  little 
blue-red  oval,  to  the  sad,  wistful  face  of  his 
brother,  which  even  then  was  haunting  him 
from  some  mysterious  distance.  He  kissed 
the  child's  forehead,  but  even  then  so  vaguely 
and  perfunctorily,  that  the  mother  sighed,  and 
drew  it  closer  to  her  breast. 


STORM.  89 

"The  doctor  says,"  she  continued  in  a 
calmer  voice,  "  that  I'm  not  doing  as  well  as 
I  ought  to.  I  don't  think,"  she  faltered,  with 
something  of  her  old  bitter  laugh,  "that  I'm 
ever  doing  as  well  as  I  ought  to,  and  perhaps 
it's  not  strange  now  that  I  don't.  And  he 
says,  that,  in  case  any  thing  happens  to  me, 
I  ought  to  look  ahead.  I  have  looked  ahead. 
It's  a  dark  look  ahead,  Rand  —  a  horror  of 
blackness,  without  kind  faces,  without  the 
baby,  without  —  without  him !  " 

She  turned  her  face  awa}r,  and  laid  it  on 
the  bundle  by  her  side.  It  was  so  quiet  in  the 
cabin,  that,  through  the  open  door  beyond,  the 
faint,  rhythmical  moan  of  the  pines  below  was 
distinctly  heard. 

"  I  know  it's  foolish ;  but  that  is  what 
'looking  ahead'  always  meant  to  me,"  she 
said,  with  a  sigh.  "But,  since  the  doctor 
has  been  gone,  I've  talked  to  Mrs.  Sol,  and 
find  it's  for  the  best.  And  I  look  ahead,  and 
see  more  clearly.  I  look  ahead,  and  see  my 
disgrace  removed  far  away  from  him  and  3*011. 
I  look  ahead,  and  see  you  and  he  living  to- 
gether happity,  as  you  did  before  I  cama 


90       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

between  3-011.  I  look  ahead,  and  see  my  past 
life  forgotten,  ni}T  faults  forgiven  ;  and  I  think 
I  see  }T>u  both  loving  my  baby,  and  perhaps 
loving  me  a  little  for  its  sake.  Thank  you, 
Band,  thank  you  !  " 

For  Rand's  hand  had  caught  hers  beside 
the  pillow,  and  he  was  standing  over  her, 
whiter  than  she.  Something  in  the  pressure 
of  his  hand  emboldened  her  to  go  on,  and 
even  lent  a  certain  strength  to  her  voice. 

"  When  it  comes  to  that,  Rand,  3-011 '11  not 
let  these  people  take  the  baby  away.  You'll 
keep  it  here  with  you  until  lie  comes.  And 
something  tells  me  that  he  will  come  when  I 
am  gone.  You'll  keep  it  here  in  the  pure  air 
and  sunlight  of  the  mountain,  and  out  of  those 
wicked  depths  below ;  and  when  I  am  gone, 
and  the}'  are  gone,  and  only  you  and  Ruth  and 
baby  are  here,  maybe  you'll  think  that  it  came 
to  you  in  a  cloud  on  the  mountain,  —  a  cloud 
that  lingered  only  long  enough  to  drop  its  bur- 
den, and  faded,  leaving  the  sunlight  and  dew 
behind.  What  is  it,  Rand?  What  are  you 
looking  at?  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Rand  in  a  strange, 


STORM.  91 

altered  voice,  "  that  I  must  trouble  you  to  let 
me  take  down  those  duds  and  furbelows  that 
hang  on  the  wall,  so  that  I  can  get  at  some 
traps  of  mine  behind  them."  He  took  some 
articles  from  the  wall,  replaced  the  dresses  of  • 
Mrs.  Sol,  and  answered  Mornie's  look  of  in- 
quiry. 

4 '  I  was  only  getting  at  my  purse  and  my 
revolver,"  he  said,  showing  them.  "  I've  got 
to  get  some  stores  at  the  Feriy  by  daylight." 

Mornie  sighed.  "  I'm  giving  you  great 
trouble,  Rand,  I  know ;  but  it  won't  be  for 
long." 

He  muttered  something,  took  her  hand 
again,  and  bade  her  "  good-night."  When 
he  reached  the  door,  he  looked  back.  The 
light  was  shining  full  upon  her  face  as  she  lay 
there,  with  her  babe  on  her  breast,  bravely 
"  looking  ahead." 


92       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 


IV. 

THE   CLOUDS   PASS. 

IT  was  early  morning  at  the  Ferry.  The 
"up  coach"  had  passed,  with  lights  unextin- 
guished,  and  the  u  outsides  "  still  asleep. 
The  fenyman  had  gone  up  to  the  Ferry  Man- 
jsion  House,  swinging  his  lantern,  and  had 
found  the  sleepy-looking  "all-night"  bar- 
keeper on  the  point  of  withdrawing  for  the  day 
on  a  mattress  under  the  bar.  An  Indian  half- 
breed,  porter  of  the  Mansion  House,  was 
washing  out  the  stains  of  recent  nocturnal  dis- 
sipation from  the  bar-room  and  veranda ;  a 
few  birds  were  twittering  on  the  cotton- woods 
beside  the  river ;  a  bolder  few  had  alighted 
upon  the  veranda,  and  were  trying  to  reconcile 
the  existence  of  so  much  lemon-peel  and  cigar- 
stumps  with  their  ideas  of  a  beneficent  Creator. 
A  faint  earthy  freshness  and  perfume  rose 


THE  CLOUDS  PASS.  93 

along  the  river-banks.  Deep  shadow  still  lay 
upon  the  opposite  shore  ;  bat  in  the  distance, 
four  miles  away,  Morning  along  the  level  crest 
of  Table  Mountain  walked  with  rosy  tread. 

The  sleep^y  bar-keeper  was  that  morning 
doomed  to  disappointment ;  for  scarcely  had 
the  coach  passed,  when  steps  were  heard  upon 
the  veranda,  and  a  weary,  dusty  traveller 
threw  his  blanket  and  knapsack  to  the  porter, 
and  then  dropped  into  a  vacant  arm-chair,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  distant  crest  of  Table 
Mountain.  He  remained  motionless  for  some 
time,  until  the  bar-keeper,  who  had  already 
concocted  the  conventional  welcome  of  the 
Mansion  House,  appeared  with  it  in  a  glass, 
put  it  upon  the  table,  glanced  at  the  stranger, 
and  then,  thoroughly  awake,  cried  out,  — 

u  Ruth  Pinkney  —  or  I'm  a  Chinaman  !  " 

The  stranger  lifted  his  eyes  wearily.  Hol- 
low circles  were  around  their  orbits ;  haggard 
lines  were  in  his  cheeks.  But  it  was  Ruth. 

He  took  the  glass,  and  drained  it  at  a  single 
draught.  uYes,"  he  said  absently,  u  Ruth 
Pinkney,"  and  fixed  his  eyes  again  on  the  dis- 
tant rosy  crest. 


94       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

6 '  On  your  way  up  home  ?  ' '  suggested  the 
bar-keeper,  following  the  direction  of  Ruth's 
eyes. 

"Perhaps." 

"  Been  upon  a  pasear,  hain't  yer?  Been 
havin'  a  little  tear  round  Sacramento,  —  seem' 
the  sights." 

Ruth  smiled  bitterly.     ' '  Yes . ' ' 

The  bar-keeper  lingered,  ostentatiously  wip- 
ing a  glass.  But  Ruth  again  became  ab- 
stracted in  the  mountain,  and  the  bar-keeper 
turned  away. 

How  pure  and  clear  that  summit  looked  to 
him !  how  restful  and  steadfast  with  serenity 
and  calm !  how  unlike  his  own  feverish,  dusty, 
travel- worn  self!  A  week  had  elapsed  since 
he  had  last  looked  upon  it,  —  a  week  of  disap- 
pointment, of  anxious  fears,  of  doubts,  of 
wild  imaginings,  of  utter  helplessness.  In  his 
hopeless  quest  of  the  missing  Mornie,  he  had, 
in  fancy,  seen  this  serene  eminence  haunting 
his  remorseful,  passion-stricken  soul.  And 
now,  without  a  clew  to  guide  him  to  her  un- 
known hiding-place,  he  was  back  again,  to  face 
the  brother  whom  he  had  deceived,  with  only 


THE  CLOUDS  PASS.  95 

tne  confession  of  his  own  weakness.  Hard  as 
it  was  to  lose  forever  the  fierce,  reproachful 
glances  of  the  woman  he  loved,  it  was  still 
harder,  to  a  man  of  Ruth's  temperament,  to 
look  again  upon  the  face  of  the  brother  he 
feared.  A  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder  star- 
tled him.  It  was  the  bar-keeper. 

"If  it's  a  fair  question,  Ruth  Pinkne3r,  I'd 
like  to  ask  ye  how  long  ye  kalkilate  to  hang 
around  the  Ferry  to-day." 

"  Why?  "  demanded  Ruth  haughtily. 

"Because,  whatever  you've  been  and  done, 
I  want  ye  to  have  a  square  show.  Ole  Nixon 
has  been  cavoortin'  round  yer  the  last  two 
days,  swearin'  to  kill  you  on  sight  for  runnin' 
off  with  his  darter.  Sabe  ?  Now,  let  me  ax 
ye  two  questions.  First,  Are  you  heeled?  " 

Ruth  responded  to  this  dialectical  inquiry 
affirmatively  by  putting  his  hand  on  his  re- 
volver. 

"Good!  Now,  second,  Have  }TOU  got  the 
gal  along  here  with  you  ?  ' ' 

"  No,"  responded  Ruth  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  That's  better  yet,"  said  the  man,  without 
heeding  the  tone  of  the  reply.  "  A  woman  — 


96        THE   TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

and  especially  the  woman  in  a  row  of  this 
kind  —  handicaps  a  man  awful."  He  paused, 
and  took  up  the  empty  glass.  "  Look  yer, 
Ruth  Pinkney,  I'm  a  square  man,  and  I'll  be 
square  with  }'ou.  So  I'll  just  tell  }TOU  you've 
got  the  demdest  odds  agin'  ye.  Pr'aps  ye 
know  it,  and  don't  keer.  Well,  the  boys 
around  yer  are  all  sidin'  with  the  old  man 
Nixon.  It's  the  first  time  the  old  rip  ever 
had  a  hand  in  his  favor :  so  the  boys  will  see 
fair  play  for  Nixon,  and  agin'  you.  But  I 
reckon  you  don't  mind  him  !  " 

"  So  little,  I  shall  never  pull  trigger  on 
him,"  said  Ruth  gravely.  _ 

The  bar-keeper  stared,  and  rubbed  his  chin 
thoughtful^.  "  Well,  thar's  that  Kanaka 
Joe,  who  used  to  be  sorter  sweet  on  Mornie,  — 
he's  an  ugly  devil,  —  he's  helpin'  the  old 
man." 

The  sad  look  faded  from  Ruth's  e}Tes  sud- 
denly. A  certain  wild  Berserker  rage  —  a 
taint  of  the  blood,  inherited  from  heaven 
knows  what  Old- World  ancestry,  which  had 
made  the  twin-brothers'  South-western  eccen- 
tricities respected  in  the  settlement  —  glowed 


THE  CLOUDS  PASS.  97 

in  its  place.  The  bar-keeper  noted  it,  and 
augured  a  lively  future  for  the  da^y's  festivi- 
ties. But  it  faded  again ;  and  Ruth,  as  he 
rose,  turned  hesitatingly  towards  him. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  brother  Rand  lately?  " 

"Nary." 

"  He  hasn't  been  here,  or  about  the  Ferry  ?  " 

"Nary  time." 

"You  haven't  heard,"  said  Ruth,  with  a 
faint  attempt  at  a  smile,  "  if  he's  been  around 
here  asking  after  me,  —  sorter  looking  me  up, 
you  know  ?  ' ' 

"Not  much,"  returned  the  bar-keeper  de- 
liberately. "  Ez  far  ez  I  know  Rand, — that 
ar  brother  o'  yours,  —  he's  one  of  yer  high- 
toned  chaps  ez  doesn't  drink,  thinks  bar-rooms 
is  pizen,  and  ain't  the  sort  to  come  round  yer, 
and  sling  yarns  with  me." 

Ruth  rose ;  but  the  hand  that  he  placed 
upon  the  table,  albeit  a  powerful  one,  trembled 
so  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  resumed  his 
knapsack.  When  he  did  so,  his  bent  figure, 
stooping  shoulders,  and  haggard  face,  made 
him  appear  another  man  from  the  one  who 
had  sat  down.  There  was  a  slight  touch  of 


98       THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

apologetic  deference  and  humilitj^  in  his  man- 
ner as  he  paid  his  reckoning,  and  slowly  and 
hesitating^  began  to  descend  the  steps. 

The  bar-keeper  looked  after  him  thought- 
fully. "  Well,  dog  my  skin  !  "  he  ejaculated 
to  himself,  "  ef  I  hadn't  seen  that  man  —  that 
same  Ruth  Pinkney  —  straddle  a  friend's  body 
in  this  3'er  very  room,  and  dare  a  whole  crowd 
to  come  on,  I'd  swar  that  he  hadn't  any  grit 
in  him.  Thar's  something  up  !  " 

But  here  Ruth  reached  the  last  step,  and 
turned  again. 

"If  you  see  old  man  Nixon,  say  I'm  in 

town;  if  you  see  that "  (I 

regret  to  sa}T  that  I  cannot  repeat  his  exact  and 
brief  characterization  of  the  present  condition 
and  natal  antecedents  of  Kanaka  Joe),  kisay 
I'm  looking  out  for  him,"  and  was  gone. 

He  wandered  down  the  road,  towards  the 
one  long,  straggling  street  of  the  settlement. 
The  few  people  who  met  him  at  that  early 
hour  greeted  him  with  a  kind  of  constrained 
civility ;  certain  cautious  souls  hurried  by 
without  seeing  him ;  all  turned  and  looked 
after  him  ;  and  a  few  followed  him  at  a  respect- 


THE  CLOUDS  PASS.  99 

ful  distance.  A  somewhat  notorious  practical 
joker  and  recognized  wag  at  the  Ferry 
apparently  awaited  his  coming  with  something 
of  invitation  and  expectation,  but,  catching 
sight  of  Ruth's  haggard  face  and  blazing 
eyes,  became  instantly  practical,  and  by  no 
means  jocular  in  his  greeting.  At  the  top 
of  the  hill,  Ruth  turned  to  look  once  more 
upon  the  distant  mountain,  now  again  a  mere 
cloud-line  on  the  horizon.  In  the  firm  belief 
that  he  would  never  again  see  the  sun  rise 
upon  it,  he  turned  aside  into  a  hazel-thicket, 
and,  tearing  out  a  few  leaves  from  his  pocket- 
book,  wrote  two  letters, — one  to  Rand,  and 
one  to  Mornie,  but  which,  as  the}*  were  never 
delivered,  shall  not  burden  this  brief  chronicle 
of  that  eventful  day.  For,  while  transcribing 
them,  he  was  startled  by  the  sounds  of  a 
dozen  pistol-shots  in  the  direction  of  the 
hotel  he  had  recently  quitted.  Something  in 
the  mere  sound  provoked  the  old  hereditary 
fighting  instinct,  and  sent  him  to  his  feet  with 
a  bound,  and  a  slight  distension  of  the  nostrils, 
and  sniffing  of  the  air,  not  unknown  to  certain 
men  who  become  half  intoxicated  by  the  smell 


100     THE   TWINS  OF   TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

of  powder.  He  quickly  folded  his  letters,  and 
addressed  them  careful!}',  and,  taking  off  his 
knapsack  and  blanket,  methodically  arranged 
them  under  a  tree,  with  the  letters  on  top. 
Then  he  examined  the  lock  of  his  revolver, 
and  then,  with  the  step  of  a  man  ten  years 
younger,  leaped  into  the  *  road.  He  had 
scarcety  done  so  when  he  was  seized,  and  by 
sheer  force  dragged  into  a  blacksmith's  shop 
at  the  roadside.  He  turned  his  savage  face 
and  drawn  weapon  upon  his  assailant,  but 
was  surprised  to  meet  the  anxious  eyes  of  the 
bar-keeper  of  the  Mansion  House. 

"  Don't  be  a  d d  fool,"  said  the  man 

quickly.  u  Thar's  h'ft}7  agin'  you  down  thar. 
But  why  in  h — 11  didn't  }^ou  wipe  out  old 
Nixon  when  you  had  such  a  good  chance  ? ,' ' 

"  Wipe  out  old  Nixon?  "  repeated  Ruth. 

"Yes;  just  now,  when  }'ou  had  him  cov- 
ered." 

"What!" 

The  bar-keeper  turned  quickly  upon  Ruth, 
stared  at  him,  and  then  suddenly  burst  into  a 
fit  of  laughter.  "Well,  I've  knowed  you 
two  were  twins,  but  damn  me  if  I  ever  thought 


THE  CLOUDS  PASS.  101 

I'd  be  sold  like  this !  "  And  he  again  burst 
into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Ruth 
savagely. 

' '  What  do  I  mean  ?  ' '  returned  the  bar- 
keeper. "Wiry,  I  mean  this.  I  mean  that 
your  brother  Rand,  as  you  call  him,  he'z  bin 
—  for  a  young  feller,  and  a  pious  feller  —  doin' 
about  the  tallest  kind  o'  fightin'  to-day  that's 
been  done  at  the  Feny.  He's  laid  out  thar 
ar  Kanaka  Joe  and  two  of  his  churns.  He 
was  pitched  into  on  your  quarrel,  and  he  took 
it  up  for  you  like  a  little  man.  I  managed  to 
drag  him  off,  up  j-er  in  the  hazel-bush  for 
safety,  and  out  you  pops,  and  I  thought  }~ou 
was  him.  He  can't  be  far  away.  Halloo ! 
There  they're  comin'  ;  and  thar's  the  doctor, 
trying  to  keep  them  back  !  ' ' 

A  crowd  of  angry,  excited  faces,  filled  the 
road  suddenly  ;  but  before  them  Dr.  Duchesne, 
mounted,  and  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  op- 
posed their  further  progress. 

' '  Back  in  the  bush !  ' '  whispered  the  bar- 
keeper. "  Now's  your  time  !  " 

But  Ruth  stirred  not.     "  Go  you  back,"  he 


102     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

said  in  a  low  voice,  "  find  Rand,  and  take 
him  away.  I  will  fill  his  place  here."  He 
drew  his  revolver,  and  stepped  into  the  road. 

A  shout,  a  report,  and  the  spatter  of  red 
dust  from  a  bullet  near  his  feet,  told  him  he 
was  recognized.  He  stirred  not ;  but  another 
shout,  and  a  cr}r,  "There  they  are — both  of 
'em  !  "  made  him  turn. 

His  brother  Rand,  with  a  smile  on  his  lip 
and  fire  in  his  eye,  stood  by  his  side.  Neither 
spoke.  Then  Rand,  quietly,  as  of  old,  slipped 
his  hand  into  his  brother's  strong  palm.  Two 
or  three  bullets  sang  by  them  ;  a  splinter  flew 
from  the  blacksmith's  shed  :  but  the  brothers, 
hard  griping  each  other's  hands,  and  looking 
into  each  other's  faces  with  a  quiet  joy,  stood 
there  calm  and  imperturbable. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause.  The  voice 
of  Dr.  Duchesne  rose  above  the  crowd. 

"  Keep  back,  I  say!  keep  back!  Or -hear 
me  !  — for  five  years  I've  worked  among  you, 
and  mended  and  patched  the  holes  you've 
drilled  through  each  other's  carcasses  —  Keep 
back,  I  say !  —  or  the  next  man  that  pulls 
trigger,  or  steps  forward,  will  get  a  hole  from 


THE  CLOUDS  PASS.  103 

me  that  no  surgeon  can  stop.  I'm  sick  of 
}Tour  bungling  ball  practice  !  Keep  back  !  — 
or,  by  the  living  Jingo,  I'll  show  you  where  a 
man's  vitals  are  !  " 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  from  the 
crowd,  and  for  a  moment  the  twins  were  for- 
gotten in  this  audacious  speech  and  coolly  im- 
pertinent presence. 

"That's  right!  Now  let  that  infernal  old 
hypocritical  drunkard,  Mat  Nixon,  step  to  the 
front." 

The  crowd  parted  right  and  left,  and  half 
pushed,  half  dragged  Nixon  before  him. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  doctor,  "this  is 
the  man  who  has  just  shot  at  Rand  Pinkney 
for  hiding  his  daughter.  Now,  I  tell  you, 
gentlemen,  and  I  tell  him,  that  for  the  last 
week  his  daughter,  Morale  Nixon,  has  been 
under  my  care  as  a  patient,  and  my  protec- 
tion as  a  friend.  If  there's  anybody  to  be 
shot,  the  job  must  begin  with  me  !  " 

There  was  another  laugh,  and  a  cry  of 
"Bully  for  old  Sawbones!"  Ruth  started 
convulsively,  and  Rand  answered  his  look 
with  a  confirming  pressure  of  his  hand. 


104     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"  That  isn't  all,  gentlemen:  this  drunken 
brute  has  just  shot  at  a  gentleman  whose 
only  offerfce,  to  my  knowledge,  is,  that  he  has, 
for  the  last  week,  treated  her  with  a  brother's 
kindness,  has  taken  her  into  his  own  home, 
and  cared  for  her  wants  as  if  she  were  his 
own  sister." 

Ruth's  hand  again  grasped  his  brother's. 
Rand  colored,  and  hung  his  head. 

"There's  more  yet,  gentlemen.  I  tell  you 
that  that  girl,  Mornie  Nixon,  has,  to  my  knowl- 
edge, been  treated  like  a  lad}',  has  been  cared 
for  as  she  never  was  cared  for  in  her  father's 
house,  and,  while  that  father  has  been  pro- 
claiming her  shame  in  ever}'  bar-room  at  the 
Ferry,  has  had  the  sympathy  and  care,  night 
and  day,  of  two  of  the  most  accomplished 
ladies  of  the  Ferry,  —  Mrs.  Sol  Saunders,  gen- 
tlemen, and  Miss  Euphemia." 

There  was  a  shout  of  approbation  from  the 
crowd.  Nixon  would  have  slipped  away,  but 
the  doctor  stopped  him. 

u  Not  yet!  I've  one  thing  more  to  say. 
I've  to  tell  you,  gentlemen,  on  my  profes- 
sional word  of  honor,  that,  besides  being  an 


THE  CLOUDS  PASS.  105 

old  hypocrite,  this  same  old  Mat  Nixon  is  the 
ungrateful,  unnatural  grandfather  of  the  first 
bo}T  born  in  the  district." 

A  wild  huzza  greeted  the  doctor's  climax. 
B}T  a  common  consent  the  crowd  turned  toward 
the  Twins,  who,  grasping  each  other's  hands, 
stood  apart.  The  doctor  nodded  his  head. 
The  next  moment  the  Twins  were  surrounded, 
and  lifted  in  the  arms  of  the  laughing  throng, 
and  borne  in  triumph  to  the  bar-room  of  the 
Mansion  House. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  bar-keeper,  "call 
for  what  you  like :  the  Mansion  House  treats 
to-day  in  honor  of  its  being  the  first  time  that 
Rand  Pinkney  has  been  admitted  to  the  bar." 

It  was  agreed,  that,  as  her  condition  was 
still  precarious,  the  news  should  be  broken  to 
her  gradually  and  indirectly.  The  indefatiga- 
ble Sol  had  a  professional  idea,  which  was  not 
displeasing  to  the  Twins.  It  being  a  lovely 
summer  afternoon,  the  couch  of  Mornie  was 
lifted  out  on  the  ledge,  and  she  lay  there  bask- 
ing in  the  sunlight,  drinking  in  the  pure  air, 
and  looking  bravely  ahead  in  the  daylight  as 


106     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

she  had  in  the  darkness,  for  her  couch  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  mountain  flank.  And, 
lying  there,  she  dreamed  a  pleasant  dream, 
and  in  her  dream  saw  Rand  returning  up  the 
mountain -trail.  She  was  half  conscious  that 
he  had  good  news  for  her ;  and,  when  he  at 
last  reached  her  bedside,  he  began  gently  and 
kindh'  to  tell  his  news.  But  she  heard  him 
not,  or  rather  in  her  dream  was  most  occupied 
with  his  ways  and  manners,  which  seemed  un- 
like him,  yet  inexpressibly  sweet  -and  tender. 
The  tears  were  fast  coming  in  her  eyes,  when 
he  suddenly  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her, 
threw  away  Rand's  disguising  hat  and  coat, 
and  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  And  by  that  she 
knew  it  was  Ruth. 

But  what  they  said  ;  what  hurried  words  of 
mutual  explanation  and  forgiveness  passed 
between  them  ;  what  bitter  }-et  tender  recollec- 
tions of  hidden  fears  and  doubts,  now  forever 
chased  awa}T  in  the  rain  of  tears  and  joyous 
sunshine  of  that  mountain-top,  were  then  whis- 
pered ;  whatever  of  this  little  chronicle  that 
to  the  reader  seems  strange  and  inconsistent 
(as  all  human  record  must  ever  be  strange  and 


THE  CLOUDS  PASS.  107 

imperfect,  except  to  the  actors)  was  then  made 
clear,  —  was  never  divulged  by  them,  and 
must  remain  with  them  forever.  The  rest  of 
the  party  had  withdrawn,  and  the}T  were  alone. 
But  when  Mornie  turned,  and  placed  the  baby 
in  its  father's  arms,  they  were  so  isolated  in 
their  happiness,  that  the  lower  world  beneath 
them  might  have  swung  and  drifted  away, 
and  left  that  mountain-top  the  beginning  and 
creation  of  a  better  planet. 

46  You  know  all  about  it  now,"  said  Sol  the 
next  day,  explaining  the  previous  episodes  of 
this  histor}7  to  Ruth:  "you've  got  the  whole 
plot  before  you.  It  dragged  a  little  in  the 
second  act,  for  the  actors  weren't  up  in  their 
parts.  But  for  an  amateur  performance,  on 
the  whole,  it  wasn't  bad." 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  Rand  im- 
pulsively, "how  we'd  have  got  on  without 
Euphemia.  It's  too  bad  she  couldn't  be  here 
to-day." 

"  She  wanted  to  come,"  said  Sol ;  "  but  the 
gentleman  she's  engaged  to  came  up  from 
Marysville  last  night." 


108     THE  TWINS  OF   TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"  Gentleman  —  engaged  !  "  repeated  Band, 
white  and  red  by  turns. 

"Well,  yes.  I  say  'gentleman,'  although 
he's  in  the  variety  profession.  She  always 
said,"  said  Sol,  quietly  looking  at  Rand,  "  that 
she'd  never  marry  out  of  it." 


AN   HEIRESS   OF  RED   DOG. 


r  1 1HE  first  intimation  given  of  the  eccen- 
-L  tricity  of  the  testator  was,  I  think,  in 
the  spring  of  1854.  He  was  at  that  time  in 
possession  of  a  considerable  property,  heavily 
mortgaged  to  one  friend,  and  a  wife  of  some 
attraction,  on  whose  affections  another  friend 
held  an  encumbering  lien.  One  day  it  was 
found  that  he  had  secretly  dug,  or  caused  to 
be  dug,  a  deep  trap  before  the  front-door  of 
his  dwelling,  into  which  a  few  friends,  in 
the  course  of  the  evening,  casually  and  fa- 
miliarly dropped.  This  circumstance,  slight 
in  itself,  seemed  to  point  to  the  existence  of 
a  certain  humor  in  the  man,  which  might 
eventually  get  into  literature,  although  his 
wife's  lover  —  a  man  of  quick  discernment, 
whose  leg  was  broken  by  the  fall  —  took  other 
views.  It  was  some  weeks  later,  that,  while 

109 


110  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

dining  with  certain  other  friends  of  his  wife, 
he  excused  himself  from  the  table  to  quietly 
re-appear  at  the  front-window  with  a  three- 
quarter  inch  hydraulic  pipe,  and  a  stream  of 
water  projected  at  the  assembled  company. 
An  attempt  was  made  to  take  public  cogni- 
zance of  this  ;  but  a  majority  of  the  citizens 
of  Red  Dog,  who  were  not  at  dinner,  decided 
that  a  man  had  a  right  to  choose  his  own 
methods  of  diverting  his  company.  Never- 
theless, there  were  some  hints  of  his  insanity  ; 
his  wife  recalled  other  acts  clearly  attributable 
to  dementia;  the  crippled  lover  argued  from 
his  own  experience  that  the  integrity  of  her 
limbs  could  only  be  secured  by  leaving  her 
husband's  house  ;  and  the  mortgagee,  fearing 
a  further  damage  to  his  property,  foreclosed. 
But  here  the  cause  of  all  this  anxiety  took 
matters  into  his  own  hands,  and  disappeared. 

When  we  next  heard  from  him,  he  had,  in 
some  m3*sterious  way,  been  relieved  alike  of 
his  wife  and  property,  and  was  living  alone  at 
Rockville  fifty  miles  awajr,  and  editing  a  news- 
paper. But  that  originality  he  had  displayed 
when  dealing  with  the  problems  of  his  own 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  Ill 

private  life,  when  applied  to  politics  in  the 
columns  of  "The  Eockville  Vanguard"  was 
singularly  unsuccessful.  An  amusing  exag- 
geration, purporting  to  be  an  exact  account 
of  the  manner  in  which  the  opposing  candidate 
had  murdered  his  Chinese  laundryman,  was,  I 
regret  to  say,  answered  only  by  assault  and 
batteiy.  A  gratuitous  and  purely  imaginative 
description  of  a  great  religious  revival  in  Ca- 
laveras,  in  which  the  sheriff  of  the  count\T  —  a 
notoriously  profane  sceptic  —  was  alleged  to 
have  been  the  chief  exhorter,  resulted  only  in 
the  withdrawal  of  the  county  advertising  from 
the  paper.  In  the  midst  of  this  practical  con- 
fusion he  suddenly  died.  It  was  then  dis- 
covered, as  a  crowning  proof  of  his  absurdity, 
that  he  had  left  a  will,  bequeathing  his  entire 
effects  to  a  freckle-faced  maid-servant  at  the 
Eockville  Hotel.  But  that  absurdity  became 
serious  when  it  was  also  discovered  that  among 
these  effects  were  a  thousand  shares  in  the 
Rising  Sun  Mining  Compairy,  which  a  da}'  or 
two  after  his  demise,  and  while  people  were 
still  laughing  at  his  grotesque  benefaction, 
suddenly  sprang  into  opulence  and  celebrity. 


112  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

Three  millions  of  dollars  was  roughly  esti- 
mated as  the  value  of  the  estate  thus  wantonly 
sacrificed.  For  it  is  only  fair  to  state,  as  a 
just  tribute  to  the  enterprise  and  energy  of 
that  young  and  thriving  settlement,  that  there 
was  not  probably  a  single  citizen  who  did  not 
feel  himself  better  able  to  control  the  deceased 
humorist's  property.  Some  had  expressed  a 
doubt  of  their  ability  to  support  a  family ; 
others  had  felt  perhaps  too  keenly  the  deep 
responsibility  resting  upon  them  when  chosen 
from  the  panel  as  jurors,  and  had  evaded  their 
public  duties  ;  a  few  had  declined  office  and  a 
low  salary  :  but  no  one  shrank  from  the  possi- 
bility of  having  been  called  upon  to  assume 
the  functions  of  Peggy  MofFat,  the  heiress. 

The  will  was  contested, — first  by  the 
widow,  whom  it  now  appeared  had  never  been 
legally  divorced  from  the  deceased  ;  next  by 
four  of  his  cousins,  who  awoke,  only  too  late, 
to  a  consciousness  of  his  moral  and  pecuniary 
worth.  But  the  humble  legatee  —  a  singu- 
larly plain,  unpretending,  uneducated  West- 
ern girl  —  exhibited  a  dogged  pertinacity  in 
claiming  her  rights.  She  rejected  all  compro- 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  113 

mises.  A  rough  sense  of  justice  in  the  com- 
munity, while  doubting  her  ability  to  take 
care  of  the  whole  fortune,  suggested  that  she 
ought  to  be  content  with  three  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.  "  She's  bound  to  throw  even 
that  away  on  some  denied  skunk  of  a  man, 
natoorally  ;  but  three  millions  is  too  much  to 
give  a  chap  for  makin'  her  onhappy.  It's 
offerin'  a  temptation  to  cussedness."  The 
only  opposing  voice  to  this  counsel  came 
from  the  sardonic  lips  of  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin. 
"  Suppose,"  suggested  that  gentleman,  turning 
abruptly  on  the  speaker, —  u  suppose,  when 
you  w.on  twenty  thousand  dollars  Of  me  last 
Friday  night  —  suppose  that,  instead  of  hand- 
ing you  over  the  money  as  I  did  —  suppose 
I'd  got  up  on  my  hind-legs,  and  said',  l  Look 
yer,  Bill  Wethersbee,  you're  a  d — -d  fool. 
If  I  give  ye  that  twenty  thousand,  you'll  throw 
it  away  in  the  first  skin-game  in  'Frisco,  and 
hand  it  over  to  the  first  short  card-sharp  you'll 
meet.  There's  a  thousand,  —  enough  for  you 
to  fling  away, — take  it  and  get!'  Suppose 
what  I'd  said  to  you  was  the  frozen  truth, 
and  you  know'd  it,  would  that  have  been  the 


114  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

square  thing  to  play  on  you  ? ' '  But  here 
Wethersbee  quickly  pointed  out  the  inefficiency 
of  the  comparison  by  stating  that  he  had  won 
the  money  fairly  with  a  stake.  "  And  how  do 
you  know,"  demanded  Hamlin  savagely,  bend- 
ing his  black  eyes  on  the  astounded  casuist,  — 
"how  do  you  know  that  the  gal  hezn't  put 
down  a  stake  ?  ' '  The  man  stammered  an  un- 
intelligible reply.  The  gambler  laid  his  white 
hand  on  Wethersbee's  shoulder.  "  Look  j-er, 
old  man,"  he  said,  u  every  gal  stakes  her 
whole  pile,  — you  can  bet  your  life  on  that,  — 
whatever 's  her  little  game.  If  she  took  to 
keerds  instead  of  her  feelings,  if  she'd  put 
up  4  chips '  instead  o'  bod}7  and  soul,  she'd 
bust  every  bank  'twixt  this  and  'Frisco  !  You 
hear  me  ?  " 

Somewhat  of  this  idea  was  convej'ed,  I  fear 
not  quite  as  sentimentally,  to  Peggy  Moffat 
herself.  The  best  legal  wisdom  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, retained  by  the  widow  and  relatives,  took 
occasion,  in  a  private  interview  with  Peggy, 
to  point  out  that  she  stood  in  the  quasi-crim- 
inal attitude  of  having  unlawfully  practised 
upon  the  affections  of  an  insane  elderly  gentle- 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  115 

man,  with  a  view  of  getting  possession  of  his 
property,  and  suggested  to  her  that  no  vestige 
of  her  moral  character  would  remain  after  the 
trial,  if  she  persisted  in  forcing  her  claims  to 
that  issue.  It  is  said  that  Peggy,  on  hearing 
this,  stopped  washing  the  plate  she  had  in  her 
hands,  and,  twisting  the  towel  around  her  fin- 
gers, fixed  her  small  pale  blue  ej'es  at  the 
lawyer. 

"  And  ez  that  the  kind  o'  chirpin  these  crit- 
ters keep  up  ?  ' ' 

"I  regret  to  say,  my  dear  young  lady," 
responded  the  lawyer,  "  that  the  world  is  cen- 
sorious. I  must  add,"  he  continued,  with 
engaging  frankness,  "that  we  professional 
lawyers  are  apt  to  study  the  opinion  of  the 
world,  and  that  such  will  be  the  theory  of — 
our  side." 

"Then,"  said  Peggy  stoutly,  u  ez  I  allow 
I've  got  to  go  into  court  to  defend  my  char- 
acter, I  might  as  well  pack  in  them  three  mil- 
lions too." 

There  is  hearsa}T  evidence  that  Peg  added  to 
this  speech  a  wish  and  desire  to  "bust  the 
crust"  of  her  traducers,  and,  remarking  that 


116  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED    DOG. 

"that  was  the  kind  of  hair-pin"  she  was, 
closed  the  conversation  with  an  unfortunate 
accident  to  the  plate,  that  left  a  severe  contu- 
sion on  the  legal  brow  of  her  companion.  But 
this  story,  popular  in  the  bar-rooms  and 
gulches,  lacked  confirmation  in  higher  circles. 
Better  authenticated  was  the  legend  related  of 
an  interview  with  her  own  lawyer.  That  gen- 
tleman had  pointed  out  to  her  the  advantage 
of  being  able  to  show  some  reasonable  cause 
for  the  singular  generosity  of  the  testator. 

"  Although,"  he  continued,  "the  law  does 
not  go  back  of  the  will  for  reason  or  cause  for 
its  provisions,  it  would  be  a  strong  point  with 
the  judge  and  jury  —  particularly  if  tlie  theory 
of  insanity  were  set  up  —  for  us  to  show  that 
the  act  was  logical  and  natural.  Of  course 
you  have  —  I  speak  confidently,  Miss  Moffat 
—  certain  ideas  of  your  own  why  the  late  Mr. 
Byways  was  so  singularly  generous  to  }X)u." 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  said  Peg  decidedly. 

"Think  again.  Had  he  not  expressed  to 
you  —  you  understand  that  this  is  confidential 
between  us,  although  I  protest,  my  dear  3*oung 
lady,  that  I  see  no  reason  why  it  should  not 


AN  HEIRESS   OF  RED  DOG.  117 

be  made  public  —  had  he  not  given  utterance 
to  sentiments  of  a  nature  consistent  with  some 
future  matrimonial  relations  ?  ' '  But  here  Miss 
Peg's  large  mouth,  which  had  been  slowly 
relaxing  over  her  irregular  teeth,  stopped  him. 

"  If  you  mean  he  wanted  to  many  me  — 
No!" 

""  I  see.  But  were  there  any  conditions  — 
of  course  }TOU  know  the  law  takes  no  cogni- 
zance of  any  not  expressed  in  the  will ;  but 
still,  for  the  sake  of  mere  eorroboration  of  the 
bequest  —  do  you  know  of  any  conditions  on 
which  he  gave  you  the  property  ?  ' ' 

' '  You  mean  did  he  want  an}'  thing  in  re- 
turn?" 

"  Exactly,  my  dear  young  lady." 

Peg's  face  on  one  side  turned  a  deep  ma- 
genta color,  on  the  other  a  lighter  cherry, 
while  her  nose  was  purple,  and  her  forehead  an 
Indian  red.  To  add  to  the  effect  of  this  awk- 
ward and  discomposing  dramatic  exhibition  of 
embarrassment,  she  began  to  wipe  her  hands 
on  her  dress,  and  sat  silent. 

"I  understand,"  said  the  law}'er  hastily. 
"  No  matter  —  the  conditions  were  fulfilled." 


118  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

"No!  "said  Peg  amazedly.  "  How  could 
they  be  until  he  was  dead  ?  ' ' 

It  was  the  lawyer's  turn  to  color  and  grow 
embarrassed. 

"  He  did  say  something,  and  make  some 
conditions,"  continued  Peg,  with  a  certain 
firmness  through  her  awkwardness ;  "  but 
that's  nobody's  business  but  mine  and  his'n. 
And  it's  no  call  o'  yours  or  theirs." 

"But,  my  dear  Miss  Moffat,  if  these  very 
conditions  were  proofs  of  his  right  mind,  you 
surely  would  not  object  to  make  them  known, 
if  only  to  enable  you  to  put  yourself  in  a  con- 
dition to  carry  them  out." 

"But,"  said  Peg  cunningly,  "  s'pose  you 
and  the  Court  didn't  think  'em  satisfactory? 
8* nose  you  thought  'em  queer?  Eh?  " 

, » ith  this  helpless  limitation  on  the  part  of 
the  defence,  the  case  came  to  trial.  Eveiy- 
bod}'  remembers  it,  —  how  for  six  weeks  it  was 
the  daily  food  of  Gala  veras  County ;  how  for 
six  weeks  the  intellectual  and  moral  and  spir- 
itual competenc}'  of  Mr.  James  Bywaj's  to  dis- 
pose of  his  property  was  discussed  with  learned 
and  formal  obscurity  in  the  court,  and  with 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  119 

unlettered  and  independent  prejudice  by  camp- 
fires  and  in  bar-rooms.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  when  it  was  logically  established  that  at 
least  nine-tenths  of  the  population  of  Calaveras 
were  harmless  lunatics,  and  everybody  else's 
reason  seemed  to  totter  on  its  throne,  an  ex- 
hausted jury  succumbed  one  day  to  the  pres- 
ence of  Peg  in  the  court- room.  It  was  not  a 
prepossessing  presence  at  any  time  ;  but  the 
excitement,  and  an  injudicious  attempt  to 
ornament  herself,  brought  her  defects  into  a 
glaring  relief  that  was  almost  unreal.  Every 
freckle  on  her  face  stood  out  and  asserted  itself 
singly  ;  her  pale  blue  eyes,  that  gave  no  indica- 
tion of  her  force  of  character,  were  weak  and 
wandering,  or  stared  blankly  at  the  judge  ;  her 
over-sized  head,  broad  at  the  base,  terminating 
in  the  scantiest  possible  light-colored  braid  in 
the  middle  of  her  narrow  shoulders,  was  as 
hard  and  uninteresting  as  the  wooden  spheres 
that  topped  the  railing  against  which  she  sat. 
The  jury,  who  for  six  weeks  had  had  her  de- 
scribed to  them  by  the  plaintiffs  as  an  arch, 
wily  enchantress,  who  had  sapped  the  failing 
reason  of  Jim  Byways,  revolted  to  a  man 


120  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

There  was  something  so  appallingly  gratuitous 
in  her  plainness,  that  it  was  felt  that  three 
millions  was  scarcely  a  compensation  for  it. 
4  c  Ef  that  money  was  give  to  her,  she  earned  it 
sure,  boys :  it  wasn't  no  softness  of  the  old 
man,"  said  the  foreman.  When  the  jury 
retired,  it  was  felt  that  she  had  cleared  her 
character :  when  they  re-entered  the  room 
with  their  verdict,  it  was  known  that  she  had 
been  awarded  three  millions  damages  for  its 
defamation. 

She  got  the  money.  But  those  who  had 
confidently  expected  to  see  her  squander  it 
were  disappointed :  on  the  contrary,  it  was 
presently  whispered  that  she  was  exceedingly 
penurious.  That  admirable  woman,  Mrs.  Sti- 
ver of  Red  Dog,  who  accompanied  her  to  San 
Francisco  to  assist  her  in  making  purchases, 
was  loud  in  her  indignation.  "  She  cares  more 
for  two  bits1  than  I  do  for  five  dollars.  She 
wouldn't  buy  any  thing  at  the  '  City  of  Paris/ 
because  it  was  'too  expensive,'  and  at  last 
rigged  herself  out,  a  perfect  guy,  at  some  cheap 
slop-shops  in  Market  Street.  And  after  ah1 

1  Twenty-five  cents. 


AN  HEIRESS   OF  RED  DOG.  121 

the  care  Jane  and  me  took  of  her,  giving  up 
our  time  and  experience  to  her,  she  never  so 
much  as  made  Jane  a  single  present."  Popular 
opinion,  which  regarded  Mrs.  Stiver's  atten- 
tion as  purely  speculative,  was  not  shocked  at 
this  unprofitable  denoument ;  but  when  Peg 
refused  to  give  an}'  thing  to  clear  the  mortgage 
off  the  new  Presbyterian  Church,  and  even 
declined  to  take  shares  in  the  Union  Ditch, 
considered  by  many  as  an  equally  sacred  and 
safe  investment,  she  began  to  lose  favor. 
Nevertheless,  she  seemed  to  be  as  regardless 
of  public  opinion  as  she  had  been  before  the 
trial ;  took  a  small  house,  in  which  she  lived 
with  an  old  woman  who  had  once  been  a  fellow- 
servant,  on  apparently  terms  of  perfect  equali- 
ty, and  looked  after  her  money.  I  wish  I 
could  say  that  she  did  this  discreetly  ;  but  the 
fact  is,  she  blundered.  The  same  dogged  per- 
sistency she  had  displayed  in  claiming  her 
rights  was  visible  in  her  unsuccessful  ventures. 
She  sunk  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  a 
worn-out  shaft  originally  projected  by  the  de- 
ceased testator ;  she  prolonged  the  miserable 
existence  of  "  The  Rockville  Vanguard  "  long 


122  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

after  it  had  ceased  to  interest  even  its  enemies  ; 
she  kept  the  doors  of  the  Rockville  Hotel  open 
when  its  custom  had  departed  ;  she  lost  the 
co-operation  and  favor  of  a  fellow- capitalist 
through  a  trifling  misunderstanding  in  which 
she  was  derelict  and  impenitent ;  she  had  three 
law-suits  on  her  hands  that  could  have  been  set- 
tled for  a  trifle.  I  note  these  defects  to  show 
that  she  was  by  no  means  a  heroine.  I  quote 
her  affair  with  Jack  Folinsbee  to  show  she  was 
scarcely  the  average  woman. 

That  handsome,  graceless  vagabond  had 
struck  the  outskirts  of  Red  Dog  in  a  cyclone 
of  dissipation  which  left  him  a  stranded  but 
still  rather  interesting  wreck  in  a  ruinous 
cabin  not  far  from  Peg  Moffiat's  virgin  bower. 
Pale,  crippled  from  excesses,  with  a  voice 
quite  tremulous  from  sympathetic  emotion 
more  or  less  developed  by  stimulants,  he 
lingered  languidly,  with  much  time  on  his 
hands,  and  only  a  few  neighbors.  In  this 
fascinating  kind  of  general  deshabille  of  morals, 
dress,  and  the  emotions,  he  appeared  before 
Peg  Moffat.  More  than  that,  he  occasionally 
limped  with  her  through  the  settlement.  The 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  123 

critical  eye  of  Red  Dog  took  in  the  singular 
pair, — Jack,  voluble,  suffering,  apparently 
overcome  by  remorse,  conscience,  vituperation, 
and  disease ;  and  Peg,  open-mouthed,  high- 
colored,  awkward,  yet  delighted;  and  the 
critical  eye  of  Red  Dog,  seeing  this,  winked 
meaningly  at  Rockville.  No  one  knew  what 
passed  between  them ;  but  all  observed  that 
one  summer  day  Jack  drove  down  the  main 
street  of  Red  Dog  in  an  open  buggy,  with  the 
heiress  of  that  town  beside  him.  Jack,  albeit 
a  trifle  shaky,  held  the  reins  with  something 
of  his  old  dash ;  and  Mistress  Peggy,  in  an 
enormous  bonnet  with  pearl-colored  ribbons 
a  shade  darker  than  her  hair,  holding  in  her 
short,  pink-gloved  fingers  a  bouquet  of  yellow 
roses,  absolutely  glowed  crimson  in  distressful 
gratification  over  the  dash-board.  So  these 
two  fared  on,  out  of  the  busy  settlement, 
into  the  woods,  against  the  ros}'  sunset.  Pos- 
sibly it  was  not  a  prett}^  picture  :  nevertheless, 
as  the  dim  aisles  of  the  solemn  pines  opened 
to  receive  them,  miners  leaned  upon  their 
spades,  and  mechanics  stopped  in  their  toil  to 
look  after  them.  The  critical  eye  of  Red 


124  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

Dog,  perhaps  from  the  sun,  perhaps  from  the 
fact  that  it  had  itself  once  been  young  and 
dissipated,  took  on  a  kindly  moisture  as  it 
gazed. 

The  moon  was  high  when  they  returned. 
Those  who  had  waited  to  congratulate  Jack  on 
this  near  prospect  of  a  favorable  change  in  his 
fortunes  were  chagrined  to  find,  that,  having 
seen  the  lady  safe  home,  he  had  himself  de- 
parted from  Red  Dog.  Nothing  was  to  be 
gained  from  Peg,  who,  on  the  next  day  and 
ensuing  days,  kept  the  even  tenor  of  her  wa}% 
sunk  a  thousand  or  two  more  in  unsuccessful 
speculation,  and  made  no  change  in  her  habits 
of  personal  economy.  Weeks  passed  without 
any  apparent  sequel  to  this  romantic  idyl. 
Nothing  was  known  definitely  until  Jack,  a 
month  later,  turned  up  in  Sacramento,  with  a 
billiard-cue  in  his  hand,  and  a  heart  over- 
charged with  indignant  emotion.  "I  don't 
mind  saying  to  you,  gentlemen,  in  confi- 
dence," said  Jack  to  a  circle  of  sj'mpathizing 
players,  — "I  don't  mind  telling  you  regarding 
this  thing,  that  I  was  as  soft  on  that  freckled- 
faced,  red-eyed,  tallow-haired  gal,  as  if  she'd 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  125 

been — a  —  a  —  an  actress.  And  I  don't 
mind  saying,  gentlemen,  that,  as  far  as  I 
understand  women,  she  was  just  as  soft  on 
me.  You  kin  laugh  ;  but  it's  so.  One  da}T  I 
took  her  out  buggy-riding, —  in  style  too, — 
and  out  on  the  road  I  offered  to  do  the  square 
thing,  just  as  if  she'd  been  a  lady, — offered 
to  marry  her  then  and  there.  And  what  did 
she  do?  "  said  Jack  with  a  hysterical  laugh. 
u  Why,  blank  it  all!  offered  me  ttventy-Jive 
dollars  a  week  allowance — pay  to  be  stopped 
when  I  wasn't  at  home !  "  The  roar  of  laugh- 
ter that  greeted  this  frank  confession  was 
broken  by  a  quiet  voice  asking,  "And  what 
did  you  say?" — "Say?"  screamed  Jack, 

"I    just  told   her   to   go   to    with    her 

money."  —  uThe3Tsay,"  continued  the  quiet 
voice,  "  that  you  asked  her  for  the  loan  of  two 
hundred  and  fift}'  dollars  to  get  }~ou  to  Sacra- 
mento —  and  that  you  got  it."  —  "  Who  says 
so?"  roared  Jack.  "Show  me  the  blank 
liar."  There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  the 
possessor  of  the  quiet  voice,  Mr.  Jack  Ham- 
lin,  languidly  reached  under  the  table,  took 
the  chalk,  and,  rubbing  the  end  of  his  billiard- 


126  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  -DOG. 

cue,  began  with  gentle  gravit}T :  "It  was  an 
old  friend  of  mine  in  Sacramento,  a  man  with 
a  wooden  leg,  a  game  eye,  three  fingers  on  his 
right  hand,  and  a  consumptive  cough.  Being 
unable,  naturally,  to  back  himself,  he  leaves 
things  to  me.  So,  for  the  sake  of  argument," 
continued  Hamlin,  suddenly  laying  down  his 
cue,  and  fixing  his  wicked  black  eyes  on  the 
speaker,  "  say  it's  me!  " 

I  am  afraid  that  this  story,  whether  truthful 
or  not,  did  not  tend  to  increase  Peg's  popu- 
larity in  a  community  where  recklessness  and 
generosity  condoned  for  the  absence  of  all 
the  other  virtues  ;  and  it  is  possible,  also,  that 
Red  Dog  was  no  more  free  from  prejudice  than 
other  more  civilized  but  equally  disappointed 
match-makers.  Likewise,  during  the  follow- 
ing year,  she  made  several  more  foolish  ven- 
tures, and  lost  heavily.  In  fact,  a  feverish 
desire  to  increase  her  store  at  almost  an}'  risk 
seemed  to  possess  her.  At  last  it  was  an- 
nounced that  she  intended  to  re-open  the  infelix 
Rockville  Hotel,  and  keep  it  herself.  Wild  as 
this  scheme  appeared  in  theory,  when  put  into 
practical  operation  there  seemed  to  be  some 


AN  HEIRESS  OR  RED  DOG.  127 

chance  of  success.  Much,  doubtless,  was 
owing  to  her  practical  knowledge  of  hotel- 
keeping,  but  more  to  her  rigid  economy  and 
untiring  industiy.  The  mistress  of  millions, 
she  cooked,  washed,  waited  on  table,  made 
the  beds,  and  labored  like  a  common  menial. 
Visitors  were  attracted  by  this  novel  spectacle. 
The  income  of  the  house  increased  as  their 
respect  for  the  hostess  lessened.  No  anecdote 
of  her  avarice  was  too  extravagant  for  current 
belief.  It  was  even  alleged  that  she  had  been 
known  to  carry  the  luggage  of  guests  to  their 
rooms,  that  she  might  anticipate  the  usual 
porter's  gratuity.  She  denied  herself  the  or- 
dinary necessaries  of  life.  She  was  poorly 
clad,  she  was  ill-fed  —  but  the  hotel  was  mak- 
ing money. 

A  few  hinted  of  insanity ;  others  shook 
their  heads,  and  said  a  curse  was  entailed  on 
the  property.  It  was  believed,  also,  from  her 
appearance,  that  she  could  not  long  survive 
this  tax  on  her  energies,  and  already,  there 
was  discussion  as  to  the  probable  final  disposi- 
tion of  her  proper ty. 

It  was  the  particular  fortune  of  Mr.  Jack 


128  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

Hamlin  to  be  able  to  set  the  world  right  on 
this  and  other  questions  regarding  her. 

A  stornry  December  evening  had  set  in 
when  he  chanced  to  be  a  guest  of  the  Rockville 
Hotel.  He  had,  during  the  past  week,  been 
engaged  in  the  prosecution  of  his  noble  pro- 
fession at  Red  Dog,  and  had,  in  the  graphic 
language  of  a  coadjutor,  "  cleared  out  the 
town,  except  his  fare  in  the  pockets  of  the 
stage-driver."  "  The  Red  Dog  Standard" 
had  bewailed  his  departure  in  playful  obituary 
verse,  beginning,  "  Dearest  Johnny,  thou  hast 
left  us,"  wherein  the  rhymes  "  bereft  us  "  and 
4  c  deplore  ' '  carried  a  vague  allusion  to  c '  a 
thousand  dollars  more."  A  quiet  contentment 
naturally  suffused  his  personality,  and  he  was 
more  than  usually  lazy  and  deliberate  in  his 
speech.  At  midnight,  when  he  was  about  to 
retire,  he  was  a  little  surprised,  however,  by  a 
tap  on  his  door,  followed  by  the  presence  of 
Mistress  Peg  Moffat,  heiress,  and  landlady 
of  Rockville  Hotel. 

Mr.  Hamlin,  despite  his  previous  defence 
of  Peg,  had  no  liking  for  her.  His  fastidious 
taste  rejected  her  uncomeliness  ;  his  habits  of 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  129 

thought  and  life  were  all  antagonistic  to  what 
he  had  heard  of  her  niggardliness  and  greed. 
As  she  stood  there,  in  a  dirty  calico  wrapper, 
still  redolent  with  the  day's  cuisine,  crimson 
with  embarrassment  and  the  recent  heat  of 
the  kitchen  range,  she  certainty  was  not  an 
alluring  apparition.  Happily  for  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  her  loneliness,  and  the  infelix 
reputation  of  the  man  before  her,  she  was  at 
least  a  safe  one.  And  I  fear  the  very  con- 
sciousness of  this  scarcely  relieved  her  em- 
barrassment. 

u  I  wanted  to  sa}r  a  few  words  to  ye  alone, 
Mr.  Hamlin,"  she  began,  taking  an  unoffered 
seat  on  the  end  of  his  portmanteau ,  "  or  I 
shouldn't  hev  intruded.  But  it's  the  onry  time 
I  can  ketch  }TOU,  or  you  me  ;  for  I'm  down  in 
the  kitchen  from  sun-up  till  now." 

She  stopped  awkwardly,  as  if  to  listen  to 
the  wind,  which  was  rattling  the  windows,  and 
spreading  a  film  of  rain  against  the  opaque 
darkness  without.  Then,  smoothing  her  wrap- 
per over  her  knees,  she  remarked,  as  if  open- 
ing a  desultory  conversation,  "  Thar's  a  power 
of  rain  outside." 


130  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

Mr.  Hamlin's  only  response  to  this  mete- 
orological observation  was  a  yawn,  and  a  pre- 
liminary tug  at  his  coat  as  he  began  to  re- 
move it. 

"I  thought  }Te  couldn't  mind  doin'  me  a 
favor,"  continued  Peg,  with  a  hard,  awkward 
laugh,  "  partik'ly  seein'  ez  folks  allowed  you'd 
sorter  bin  a  friend  o'  mine,  and  hed  stood  up 
for  me  at  times  when  you  hedn't  any  partikler 
call  to  do  it.  I  hevn't,"  she  continued,  look- 
ing down  on  her  lap,  and  following  with  her 
finger  and  thumb  a  seam  of  her  gown,  —  "  I 
hevn't  so  many  friends  ez  slings  a  kind  word 
for  me  these  times  that  I  disremember  them." 
Her  under  lip  quivered  a  little  here  ;  and,  after 
vainly  hunting  for  a  forgotten  handkerchief, 
she  finally  lifted  the  hem  of  her  gown,  wiped 
her  snub  nose  upon  it,  but  left  the  tears  still 
in  her  eyes  as  she  raised  them  to  the  man. 

Mr.  Hamlin,  who  had  by  this  time  divested 
himself  of  his  coat,  stopped  unbuttoning  his 
waistcoat,  and  looked  at  her. 

"Like  ez  not  thar'll  be  high  water  on  the 
North  Fork,  ef  this  rain  keeps  on,"  said  Peg, 
as  if  apologetically,  looking  toward  the  win- 
dow. 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  131 

The  other  rain  having  ceased,  Mr:  Hamlin 
began  to  unbutton  his  waistcoat  again. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  ye  a  favor  about  Mr. — 
about  —  Jack  Folinsbee,"  began  Peg  again 
hurriedly.  "  He's  ailin'  agin,  and  is  mighty 
low.  And  he's  losin'  a  heap  o'  money  here 
and  thar,  and  mostly  to  you.  You  cleaned  him 
out  of  two  thousand  dollars  last  night  —  all 
he  had/' 

"  Well?  "  said  the  gambler  coldly. 

"  Well,  I  thought  ez  you  woz  a  friend  o* 
mine,  I'd  ask  ye  to  let  up  a  little  on  him," 
said  Peg,  with  an  affected  laugh.  "You  kin 
do  it.  Don't  let  him  play  with  ye." 

"Mistress  Margaret  Moffat,"  said  Jack, 
with  lazy  deliberation,  taking  off  his  watch, 
and  beginning  to  wind  it  up,  "  ef  you're  that 
much  stuck  after  Jack  Folinsbee,  you  kin 
keep  him  off  of  me  much  easier  than  I  kin. 
You're  a  rich  woman.  Give  him  enough 
money  to  break  my  bank,  or  break  himself  for 
good  and  all ;  but  don't  keep  him  forlin' 
round  me  in  hopes  to  make  a  raise.  It  don't 
pay,  Mistress  Moffat  —  it  don't  pa}' !  " 

A  finer  nature  than  Peg's  would  have  mis- 


132  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

understood  or  resented  the  gambler's  slang, 
and  the  miserable  truths  that  underlaid  it. 
But  she  comprehended  him  instantly,  and  sat 
hopelessly  silent. 

"  Ef  you'll  take  my  advice,"  continued 
Jack,  placing  his  watch  and  chain  under  his 
pillow,  and  quietly  unloosing  his  cravat, 
"  you'll  quit  this  yer  forlin',  marry  that  chap, 
and  hand  over  to  him  the  mone}-  and  the 
money-makin'  that's  killin'  you.  He'll  get  rid 
of  it  soon  enough.  I  don't  say  this  because  / 
expect  to  git  it ;  for,  when  he's  got  that  much 
of  a  raise,  he'll  make  a  break  for  'Frisco,  and 
lose  it  to  some  first-class  sport  there.  I  don't 
say,  neither,  that  you  mayn't  be  in  luck  enough 
to  reform  him.  I  don't  say,  neither —  and  it's 
a  denied  sight  more  likely  !  — that  jxni  ma}Tn't 
be  luckier  yet,  and  he'll  up  and  die  afore  he 
gits  rid  of  your  money.  But  I  do  say  you'll 
make  him  happy  now;  and,  ez  I  reckon  you' re 
about  ez  badly  stuck  after  that  chap  ez  I  ever 
saw  any  woman,  you  won't  be  hurtin'  your 
own  feelin's  either." 

The  blood  left  Peg's  face  as  she  looked  up. 
"But  that's  why  I  can't  give  him  the  money 
—  and  he  won't  marry  me  without  it." 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  133 

Mr.  Hamlin' s  hand  dropped  from  the  last 
button  of  his  waistcoat.  "  Can't  —  give  — 
him  —  the  —  money  ?  "  he  repeated  slowly. 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  —  because  I  love  him." 

Mr.  Hamlin  rebuttoned  his  waistcoat,  and 
sat  down  patiently  on  the  bed.  Peg  arose, 
and  awkwardly  drew  the  portmanteau  a  little 
nearer  to  him. 

"  When  Jim  Byways  left  me  this  yer  prop- 
erty," she  began,  looking  cautiously  around, 
"he  left  it  to  me  on  conditions;  not  condi- 
tions ez  waz  in  his  written  will,  but  condi- 
tions ez  waz  spoken.  A  promise  I  made  him 
in  this  very  room,  Mr.  Hamlin, — this  very 
room,  and  on  that  very  bed  3*ou're  sittin'  on, 
in  which  he  died." 

Like  most  gamblers,  Mr.  Hamlin  was  su- 
perstitious. He  rose  hastily  from  the  bed, 
and  took  a  chair  beside  the  window.  The 
wind  shook  it  as  if  the  discontented  spirit  of 
Mr.  Bywaj's  were  without,  re-enforcing  his  last 
injunction. 

"  I  don't  know  if  you  remember  him,"  said 


134  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

Peg  feverishly.  u  He  was  a  man  ez  hed 
suffered.  All  that  he  loved  —  wife,  fammerly, 
friends  —  had  gone  back  on  him.  He  tried  to 
make  light  of  it  afore  folks ;  but  with  me, 
being  a  poor  gal,  he  let  himself  out.  I  never 
told  anybody  this.  I  don't  know  why  he  told 
me;  1  don't  know,"  continued  Peg,  with*  a 
sniffle,  "  why  he"  wanted  to  make  me  unhappy 
too.  But  he  made  me  promise,  that,  if  he  left 
me  his  fortune,  I'd  never,  never  —  so  help  me 
God  !  —  never  share  it  with  airy  man  or  woman 
that  /  loved.  I  didn't  think  it  would  be  hard 
to  keep  that  promise  then,  Mr.  Hamlin  ;  for  I 
was  very  poor,  and  hedn't  a  friend  nor  a  liv- 
ing bein'  that  was  kind  to  me,  but  him." 

u  But  you've  as  good  as  broken  your  prom- 
ise alread}V  said  Hamlin.  "  You've  given 
Jack  money,  as  I  know." 

"  Only  what  I  made  myself.  Listen  to  me, 
Mr.  Hamlin.  When  Jack  proposed  to  me,  I 
offered  him  about  what  I  kalkilated  I  could 
earn  myself.  When  he  went  away,  and  was 
sick  and  in  trouble,  I  came  here  and  took  this 
hotel.  I  knew  that  by  hard  work  I  could 
make  it  pay.  Don't  laugh  at  me,  please.  I 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  135 

did  work  hard,  and  did  make  it  pay  —  without 
takin'  one  cent  of  the  fortin'.  And  all  I 
made,  workin'  b}T  night  and  da}',  I  gave  to 
him.  I  did,  Mr.  Hamlin.  I  ain't  so  hard  to 
him  as  you  think,  though  I  might  be  kinder, 
I  know." 

Mr.  Hamlin  rose,  deliberately  resumed  his 
coat,  watch,  hat,  and  overcoat.  When  he 
was  completely  dressed  again,  he  turned  to 
Peg. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  sa}T  that  you've  been 
givin'  all  the  money  you  made  here  to  this  A  i 
first-class  cherubim?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  didn't  know  where  I  got  it. 
O  Mr.  Hamlin  !  he  didn't  know  that." 

"  Do  I  understand  you,  that  he's  bin  buck- 
ing agin  Faro  with  the  moiie}'  that  }'ou  raised 
on  hash?  And  you  makin'  the  hash?  " 

"But  he  didn't  know  that.  He  wouldn't 
hev  took  it  if  I'd  told  him." 

"  No,  he'd  hev  died  fust!  "  said  Mr.  Ham- 
lin gravely.  "Why,  he's  that  sensitive  —  is 
Jack  Folinsbee  —  that  it  nearly  kills  him  to 
take  mone}r  even  of  me.  But  where  does  this 
angel  reside  when  he  isn't  fightin'  the  tiger, 


136  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED    DOG. 

and  is,  so  to  speak,  visible  to  the  naked 
eye?" 

"  He  —  he  —  stops  here,"  said  Peg,  with 
an  awkward  blush. 

"I  see.  Might  I  ask  the  number  of  his 
room  —  or  should  I  be  a  —  disturbing  him  in 
his  meditations?"  continued  Jack  Hamlin, 
with  grave  politeness. 

"  Oh  !  then  3rou'll  promise  ?  And  3^011  '11  talk 
to  him,  and  make  Mm  promise?  " 

u  Of  course,"  said  Hamlin  quietly. 

"And  you'll  remember  he's  sick  —  very 
sick?  His  room's  No.  44,  at  the  end  of  the 
hall.  Perhaps  I'd  better  go  with  you?" 

4 'I'll  find  it." 

"  And  you  won't  be  too  hard  on  him?  " 

"I'll  be  a  father  to  him,"  said  Hamlin 
demurely,  as  he  opened  the  door,  and  stepped 
into  the  hall.  But  he  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  then  turned,  and  gravely  held  out  his 
hand.  Peg  took  it  timidly.  He  did  not  seem 
quite  in  earnest ;  and  his  black  ej^es,  vainly 
questioned,  indicated  nothing.  But  he  shook 
her  hand  warmly,  and  the  next  moment  was 
gone. 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  137 

He  found  the  room  with  no  difficulty.  A 
faint  cough  from  within,  and  a  querulous  pro- 
test, answered  his  knock.  Mr.  Hamlin  en- 
tered without  further  ceremony.  A  sickening 
smell  of  drugs,  a  palpable  flavor  of  stale  dis- 
sipation, and  the  wasted  figure  of  Jack  Fol- 
insbee,  half  dressed,  extended  upon  the  bed, 
greeted  him.  Mr.  Hamlin  was  for  an  instant 
startled.  There  were  hollow  circles  round  the 
sick  man's  eyes ;  there  was  palsy  in  his  trem- 
bling limbs ;  there  was  dissolution  in  his 
feverish  breath. 

"  What's  up?  "  he  asked  huskily  and  nerv- 
ously. 

"  I  am,  and  I  want  you  to  get  up  too." 

"  I  can't,  Jack.  I'm  regularly  done  up." 
He  reached  his  shaking  hand  towards  a  glass 
half-filled  with  suspicious,  pungent-smelling 
liquid ;  but  Mr.  Hamlin  stayed  it. 

4  4  Do  3^011  want  to  get  back  that  two  thou- 
sand dollars  }rou  lost?  " 

"  Yes." 

i4  Well,  get  up,  and  marry  that  woman 
down  stairs." 

Folinsbee-  laughed  half  hysterically,  half 
sardonically. 


138  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG. 

"  She  won't  give  it  to  me." 

"No;  but  I  will." 

"  You?" 

"Yes." 

Folinsbee,  with  an  attempt  at  a  reckless 
laugh,  rose,  trembling  and  with  difficult}',  to 
his  swollen  feet.  Hamlin  eyed  him  narrowly, 
and  then  bade  him  lie  down  again.  "  To- 
morrow will  do,"  he  said,  "  and  then  "  — 

"If  I  don't  "- 

"  If  3'ou  don't,"  responded  Hamlin,  "  why, 
I'll  just  wade  in  and  cut  you  out!  " 

But  on  the  morrow  Mr.  Hamlin  was  spared 
that  possible  act  of  disloyalty ;  for,  in  the 
night,  the  already  hesitating  spirit  of  Mr. 
Jack  Folinsbee  took  flight  on  the  wings  of  the 
south-east  storm.  When  or  how  it  happened, 
nobody  knew.  Whether  this  last  excitement, 
and  the  near  prospect  of  matrimony,  or 
whether  an  overdose  of  anodyne,  had  hastened 
his  end,  was  never  known.  I  only  know, 
that,  when  they  came  to  awaken  him  the  next 
morning,  the  best  that  was  left  of  him  —  a 
face  still  beautiful  and  boy-like  —  looked  up 
coldly  at  the  tearful  eyes  of  Peg  Moffat.  "  It 


AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.  139 

serves  me  right,  it's  a  judgment,"  she  said 
in  a  low  whisper  to  Jack  Hamlin  ;  c '  for  God 
knew  that  I'd  broken  my  word,  and  willed  all 
my  property  to  him." 

She  did  not  long  survive  him.  Whether 
Mr.  Hamlin  ever  clothed  with  action  the  sug- 
gestion indicated  in  his  speech  to  the  lamented 
Jack  that  night,  is  not  of  record.  He  was 
always  her  friend,  and  on  her  demise  became 
her  executor.  But  the  bulk  of  her  property 
was  left  to  a  distant  relation  of  handsome 
Jack  Folinsbee,  and  so  passed  out  of  the  con- 
trol of  Red  Dog  forever. 


THE 

GREAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY. 


IT  was  growing  quite  dark  in  the  telegraph- 
office  at  Cotton  wood,  Tuohtmne  County, 
California.  The  office,  a  box-like  enclosure, 
was  separated  from  the  public  room  of  the 
Miners'  Hotel  by  a  thin  partition ;  and  the 
operator,  who  was  also  news  and  express  agent 
at  Cotton  wood,  had  closed  his  window,  and 
was  lounging  by  his  news-stand  preparatory  to 
going  home.  Without,  the  first  monotonous 
rain  of  the  season  was  dripping  from  the 
porches  of  the  hotel  in  the  waning  light  of  a 
December  day.  The  operator,  accustomed  as 
he  was  to  long  intervals  of  idleness,  was  fast 
becoming  bored. 

The  tread  of  mud-muffled  boots  on  the 
veranda,  and  the  entrance  of  two  men,  offered 
a  momentary  excitement.  He  recognized  in  - 

140 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     141 

the  strangers  two  prominent  citizens  of  Cot- 
ton wood  ;  and  their  manner  bespoke  business. 
One  of  them  proceeded  to  the  desk,  wrote  a 
despatch,  and  handed  it  to  the  other  inter- 
rogatively. 

44  That's  about  the  way  the  thing  p'ints," 
responded  his  companion  assentingly. 

44 1  reckoned  it  only  squar  to  use  his  dienti- 
cal  words  ?  ' ' 

44  That's  so." 

The  first  speaker  turned  to  the  operator 
with  the  despatch. 

4  4  How  soon  can  you  shove  her  through  ?  ' ' 

The  operator  glanced  professionally  over 
the  address  and  the  length  of  the  despatch. 

44  Now,"  he  answered  promptly. 

44  And  she  gets  there  ?  " 

44  To-night.  But  there's  no  deliver}'  until 
to-morrow." 

44  Shove  her  through  to-night,  and  say 
there's  an  extra  twenty  left  here  for  delivery." 

The  operator,  accustomed  to  all  kinds  of 
extravagant  outlay  for  expedition,  replied  that 
he  would  lay  this  proposition,  with  the  de- 
spatch, before  the  San  Francisco  office.  He 


142     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

then  took  it  and  read  it  —  and  re-read  it. 
He  preserved  the  usual  professional  apathy,  — 
had  doubtless  sent  many  more  enigmatical 
and  mysterious  messages, — but  nevertheless, 
when  he  finished,  he  raised  his  eyes  inquiringly 
to  his  customer.  That  gentleman,  who  en- 
joyed a  reputation  for  equal  spontaneity  of 
temper  and  revolver,  met  his  gaze  a  little 
impatientl}'.  The  operator  had  recourse  to  a 
trick.  Under  the  pretence  of  misunderstand- 
ing the  message,  he  obliged  the  sender  to 
repeat  it  aloud  for  the  sake  of  accuracy,  and 
even  suggested  a  few  verbal  alterations,  osten- 
sibly to  insure  correctness,  but  really  to  ex- 
tract further  information.  Nevertheless,  the 
man  doggedly  persisted  in  a  literal  transcript 
of  his  message.  The  operator  went  to  his 
instrument  hesitating!}-. 

"I  suppose,"  he  added  half-questioningly, 
"there  ain't  no  chance  of  a  mistake.  This 
address  is  Rightbody,  that  rich  old  Bostonian 
that  everybody  knows.  There  ain't  but  one  ? ' ' 

"  That's  the  address,"  responded  the  first 
speaker  coolly. 

"  Didn't  know  the  old  chap  had  investments 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.    143 

out  here,"  suggested  the  operator,  lingering  at 
.  his  instrument. 

"  No  more  did  I,"  was  the  insufficient  reply. 

For  some  few  moments  nothing  was  heard 
but  the  click  of  the  instrument,  as  the  operator 
worked  the  key,  with  the  usual  appearance  of 
imparting  confidence  to  a  somewhat  reluctant 
hearer  who  preferred  to  talk  himself.  The 
two  men  stood  by,  watching  his  motions  with 
the  usual  awe  of  the  unprofessional.  When 
he  had  finished,  they  laid  before  him  two  gold- 
pieces.  As  the  operator  took  them  up,  he 
could  not  help  saying, —  • 

44  The  old  man  went  off  kinder  sudden, 
didn't  he?  Had  no  time  to  write?  " 

"Not  sudden  for  that  kind  o'  man,"  was 
the  exasperating  reply. 

But  the  speaker  was  not  to  be  disconcerted. 
44  If  there  is  an  answer  "  —  he  began. 

44  There  ain't  any,"  replied  the  first  speaker 
quietly. 

"Why?" 

4 'Because  the  man  ez  sent  the  message  is 
dead." 

44  But  it's  signed  by  you  two." 


144     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

"  On'y  ez  witnesses  —  eh?"  appealed  the 
first  speaker  to  his  comrade. 

"  On'}'  ez  witnesses,"  responded  the  other. 

The  operator  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The 
business  concluded,  the  first  speaker  slightly 
relaxed.  He  nodded  to  the  operator,  and 
turned  to  the  bar-room  with  a  pleasing  social 
impulse.  When  their  glasses  were  set  down 
empty,  the  first  speaker,  with  a  cheerful  con- 
demnation of  the  hard  times  and  the  weather, 
apparently  dismissed  all  previous  proceedings 
from  his  mind,  and  lounged  out  with  his  com- 
panion. At  the  'Corner  of  the  street  they 
stopped. 

"  Well,  that  job's  done,"  said  the  first 
speaker,  by  way  of  relieving  the  slight  social 
embarrassment  of  parting. 

"  Thet's  so,"  responded  his  companion,  and 
shook  his  hand. 

The}'  parted.  A  gust  of  wind  swept  through 
the  pines,  and  struck  a  faint  JEolian  cry  from 
the  wires  above  their  heads ;  and  the  rain 
and  the  darkness  again  slowly  settled  upon 
Cottonwoocl. 

The  message  lagged  a  little  at  San  Francis- 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD   MYSTERY.     145 

co,  laid  over  half  an  hour  at  Chicago,  and 
fought  longitude  the  whole  way  ;  so  that  it  was 
past  midnight  when  the  "  all  night  "  operator 
took  it  from  the  wires  at  Boston.  But  it  was 
freighted  with  a  mandate  from  the  San  Fran- 
cisco office  ;  and  a  messenger  was  procured, 
who  sped  with  it  through  dark  snow-bound 
streets,  between  the  high  walls  of  close-shut- 
tered ray  less  houses,  to  a  certain  formal  square 
ghostly  with  snow-covered  statues.  Here  he 
ascended  the  broad  steps  of  a  reserved  and 
solid-looking  mansion,  and  pulled  a  bronze 
bell-knob,  that  somewhere  within  those  chaste 
recesses,  after  an  apparent  reflective  pause, 
coldl}-  communicated  the  fact  that  a  stranger 
was  waiting  without  —  as  he  ought.  Despite 
the  lateness  of  the  hour,  there  was  a  slight 
glow  from  the  windows,  clearly  not  enough  to 
warm  the  messenger  with  indications  of  a  fes- 
tivity within,  but  yet  bespeaking,  as  it  were, 
some  prolonged  though  subdued  excitement. 
The  sober  servant  who  took  the  despatch,  and 
receipted  for  it  as  gravely  as  if  witnessing  a 
last  will  and  testament,  respectfully  paused 
before  the  entrance  of  the  drawing-room. 


146     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

The  sound  of  measured  and  rhetorical  speech, 
through  which  the  occasional  catarrhal  cough 
of  the  New-England  coast  struggled,  as  the 
only  effort  of  nature  not  wholly  repressed, 
came  from  its  heavily-curtained  recesses ;  for 
the  occasion  of  the  evening  had  been  the 
reception  and  entertainment  of  various  distin- 
guished persons,  and,  as  had  been  epigram- 
matically  expressed  by  one  of  the  guests,  "  the 
history  of  the  country"  was  taking  its  leave 
in  phrases  more  or  less  memorable  and  char- 
acteristic. •  Some  of  these  valedictory  axioms 
were  clever,  some  witty,  a  few  profound,  but 
always  left  as  a  genteel  contribution  to  the  en- 
tertainer. Some  had  been  already  prepared, 
and,  like  a  card,  had  served  and  identified  the 
guest  at  other  mansions. 

The  last  guest  departed,  the  last  carriage 
rolled  away,  when  the  servant  ventured  to  in- 
dicate the  existence  of  the  despatch  to  his 
master,  who  was  standing  on  the  hearth-rug 
in  an  attitude  of  wearied  self-righteousness. 
He  took  it,  opened  it,  read  it,  re-read  it,  and 
said,  — 

' c  There  must  be  some  mistake  !  It  is  not 
for  me.  Call  the  boy,  Waters." 


THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY.     147 

Waters,  who  was  perfectly  aware  that  the 
boy  had  left,  nevertheless  obediently  walked 
towards  the  hall-door,  but  was  recalled  by  his 
master. 

"  No  matter  —  at  present !  " 

"It's  nothing  serious,  William?"  asked 
Mrs.  Rightbody,  with  languid  wifely  concern. 

"  No,  nothing.  Is  there  a  light  in  my 
study?" 

"  Yes.  But,  before  you  go,  can  you  give 
me  a  moment  or  two  ?  ' ' 

Mr.  Rightbody  turned  a  little  impatiently 
towards  his  wife.  She  had  thrown  herself 
languidly  on  the  sofa  ;  her  hair  was  slightly 
disarranged,  and  part  of  a  slippered  foot  was 
visible.  She  might  have  been  a  finely-formed 
woman ;  but  even  her  careless  deshabille  left 
the  general  impression  that  she  was  severely 
flannelled  throughout,  and  that  any  ostentation 
of  womanly  charm  was  under  vigorous  sanitary 
surveillance. 

u  Mrs.  Marvin  told  me  to-night  that  her  son 
made  no  secret  of  his  serious  attachment  for 
our  Alice,  and  that,  if  I  was  satisfied,  Mr. 
Marvin  would  be  glad  to  confer  with  you  at 
once." 


148     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

The  information  did  not  seem  to  absorb  Mr. 
Rightbody's  wandering  attention,  but  rather 
increased  his  impatience.  He  said  hastily, 
that  he  would  speak  of  that  to-morrow  ;  and 
partly  by  way  of  reprisal,  and  partly  to  dis- 
miss the  subject,  added  — 

"  Positively  James  must  pay  some  attention 
to  the  register  and  the  thermometer.  It  was 
over  70°  to-night,  and  the  ventilating  draught 
was  closed  in  the  drawing-room." 

' '  That  was  because  Professor  Ammon  sat 
near  it,  and  the  old  gentleman's  tonsils  are  so 
sensitive." 

"  He  ought  to  know  from  Dr.  Dyer  Doit 
that  systematic  and  regular  exposure  to 
draughts  stimulates  the  mucous  membrane ; 
while  fixed  air  over  60°  invariably  "  — 

"I  am  afraid,  William,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Rightbody,  with  feminine  adroitness,  adopting 
her  husband's  topic  with  a  view  of  thereb}^ 
directing  him  from  it,  —  "I'm  afraid  that 
people  do  not  yet  appreciate  the  substitution 
of  bouillon  for  punch  and  ices.  I  observed 
that  Mr.  Spondee  declined  it,  and,  I  fancied, 
looked  disappointed.  The  fibrine  and  wheat  in 
liqueur-glasses  passed  quite  unnoticed  too." 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     149 

u  And  yet  each  half-drachm  contained  the 
half-digested  substance  of  a  pound  of  beef. 
I'm  surprised  at  Spondee!"  continued  Mr. 
Rightbody  aggrievedly.  "  Exhausting  his 
brain  and  nerve  force  by  the  highest  creative 
efforts  of  the  Muse,  he  prefers  perfumed  and 
diluted  alcohol  flavored  with  carbonic  acid 
gas.  Even  Mrs.  Faringway  admitted  to  me 
that  the  sudden  lowering  of  the  temperature 
of  the  stomach  by  the  introduction  of  ice  ' '  — • 

4 '  Yes  ;  but  she  took  a  lemon  ice  at  the  last 
Dorothea  Reception,  and  asked  me  if  I  had 
observed  that  the  lower  animals  refused  their 
food  at  a  temperature  over  60°." 

Mr.  Rightbody  again  moved  impatiently 
towards  the  door.  Mrs.  Rightbod}'  eyed  him 
curiously. 

"  You  will  not  write,  I  hope?  Dr.  Keppler 
told  me  to-night  that  your  cerebral  symptoms 
interdicted  any  prolonged  mental  strain." 

"I  must  consult  a  few  papers,"  responded 
Mr.  Rightbod}7  curtly,  as  he  entered  his 
library. 

It  was  a  richly- furnished  apartment,  mor- 
bidly severe  in  its  decorations,  which  were 


150     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

S}Tmptomatic  of  a  gloomy  dyspepsia  of  art, 
then  quite  prevalent.  A  few  curios,  very 
ugly,  but  providentially  equally  rare,  were 
scattered  about.  There  were  various  bronzes, 
marbles,  and  casts,  all  requiring  explanation, 
and  so  fulfilling  their  purpose  of  promoting 
conversation,  and  exhibiting  the  erudition  of 
their  owner.  There  were  souvenirs  of  travel 
with  a  histoiy,  old  bric-a-brac  with  a  pedigree, 
but  little  or  nothing  that  challenged  attention 
for  itself  alone.  In  all  cases  the  superiority 
of  the  owner  to  his  possessions  was  admitted. 
As  a  natural  result,  nobodty  ever  lingered 
there,  the  servants  avoided  the  room,  and  no 
child  was  ever  known  to  play  in  it. 

Mr.  Rightbody  turned  up  the  gas,  and  from 
a  cabinet  of  drawers,  precisely  labelled,  drew 
a  package  of  letters.  These  he  carefully  ex- 
amined. All  were  discolored,  and  made  dig- 
nified by  age ;  but  some,  in  their  original 
freshness,  must  have  appeared  trifling,  and 
inconsistent  with  an}*  correspondent  of  Mr. 
Rightbody.  Nevertheless,  that  gentleman 
spent  some  moments  in  carefully  perusing 
them,  occasional!}'  referring  to  the  telegram 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.    151 

in  his  hand.  Suddenly  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  door.  Mr.  Rightbody  started,  made  a 
half-unconscious  movement  to  return  the  let- 
ters to  the  drawer,  turned  the  telegram  face 
downwards,  and  then,  somewhat  harshly, 
stammered,  — 

"  Eh?  Who's  there?  Come  in." 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  papa,"  said  a  very 
pretty  girl,  entering,  without,  however,  the 
slightest  trace  of  apology  or  awe  in  her  man- 
ner, and  taking  a  chair  with  the  self-posses- 
sion and  familiarity  of  an  habitue  of  the  room  ; 
' k  but  I  knew  it  was  not  your  habit  to  write 
late,  so  I  supposed  you  were  not  busy.  I  am 
on  my  way  to  bed." 

She  was  so  very  prett3r,  and  withal  so 
utterly  unconscious  of  it,  or  perhaps  so  con- 
sciously superior  to  it,  that  one  was  provoked 
into  a  more  critical  examination  of  her  face. 
But  this  only  resulted  in  a  reiteration  of  her 
beauty,  and  perhaps  the  added  facts  that  her 
dark  eyes  were  very  womanly,  her  rich  com- 
plexion eloquent,  and  her  chiselled  lips  full 
enough  to  be  passionate  or  capricious,  not- 
withstanding that  their  general  effect  suggested 


152     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

neither  caprice,  womanly  weakness,  nor  pas- 
sion. 

With  the  instinct  of  an  embarrassed  man, 
Mr.  Rightbocly  touched  the  topic  he  would 
have  preferred  to  avoid. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  talk  over  to-morrow," 
he  hesitated,  "  this  matter  of  yours  and  Mr. 
Marvin's?  Mrs.  Marvin  has  formally  spoken 
to  your  mother." 

Miss  Alice  lifted  her  bright  eyes  intelli- 
gently, but  not  joyfully ;  and  the  color  of 
action,  rather  than  embarrassment,  rose  to  her 
round  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  he  said  she  would,"  she  answered 
simply. 

41  At  present,"  continued  Mr.  Rightbody 
still  awkwardly,  "I  see  no  objection  to  the 
proposed  arrangement. ' ' 

Miss  Alice  opened  her  round  eyes  at  this. 
"  Why,  papa,  I  thought  it  had  been  all  settled 
long  ago !  Mamma  knew  it,  you  knew  it. 
Last  Julj',  mamma  and  3-011  talked  it  over." 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  her  father,  fumbling 
his  papers  ;  "  that  is  —  well,  we  will  talk  of  it 
to-morrow."  In  fact,  Mr.  Rightbody  had 


THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY.     153 

intended  to  give  the  affair  a  proper  attitude  of 
seriousness  and  solemnity  by  due  precision  of 
speech,  and  some  apposite  reflections,  when  he 
should  impart  the  news  to  his  daughter,  but 
felt  himself  unable  to  do  it  now.  "  I  am  glad, 
Alice,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  you  have  quite 
forgotten  your  previous  whims  and  fancies. 
You  see  ice  are  right." 

"Oh!  I  dare  say,  papa,  if  I'm  to  be  mar- 
ried at  all,  that  Mr.  Marvin  is  in  every  way 
suitable." 

Mr.  Rightbody  looked  at  his  daughter  nar- 
rowly. There  was  not  the  slightest  impatience 
nor  bitterness  in  her  manner :  it  was  as  well 
regulated  as  the  sentiment  she  expressed. 

u  Mr.  Marvin  is  "  —  he  began. 

"I  know  what  Mr.  Marvin  is,"  interrupted 
Miss  Alice;  "and  he  has  promised  me  that 
I  shall  be  allowed  to  go  on  with  my  studies 
the  same  as  before.  I  shall  graduate  with  my 
class;  and,  if  I  prefer  to  practise  my  profes- 
sion, I  can  do  so  in  two  years  after  our  mar- 
riage." 

1 ;  In  two  years  ?  ' '  queried  Mr.  Rightbody 
curiously. 


154     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

"Yes.  You  see,  in  case  we  should  have  a 
child,  that  would  give  me  time  enough  to  wean 
it." 

Mr.  Rightbody  looked  at  this  flesh  of  his 
flesh,  pretty  and  palpable  flesh  as  it  was  ;  but, 
being  confronted  as  equally  with  the  brain  of 
his  brain,  all  he  could  do  was  to  say  meekly,  — 

"  Yes,  certainly.  We  will  see  about  all 
that  to-morrow." 

Miss  Alice  rose.  Something  in  the  free, 
unfettered  swing  of  her  arms  as  she  rested 
them  lightly,  after  a  half  yawn,  on  her  lithe 
hips,  suggested  his  next  speech,  although  still 
distrait  and  impatient. 

4 '  You  continue  your  exercise  with  the  health- 
lift  yet,  I  see." 

"  Yes,  papa  ;  but  I  had  to  give  up  the  flan- 
nels. I  don't  see  how  mamma  could  wear 
them.  But  my  dresses  are  high-necked,  and 
by  bathing  I  toughen  my  skin.  See!"  she 
added,  as,  with  a  child-like  unconsciousness, 
she  unfastened  two  or  three  buttons  of  her 
gown,  and  exposed  the  white  surface  of  her 
throat  and  neck  to  her  father,  "  I  can  defy  a 
chill." 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     155 

Mr.  Rightbody,  with  something  akin  to  a 
genuine  playful,  paternal  laugh,  leaned  for- 
ward, and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"  It's  getting  late,  Ally,"  he  said  parental- 
ly, but  not  dictatorially.  "  Go  to  bed." 

4 '  I  took  a  nap  of  three  hours  this  after- 
noon," said  Miss  Alice,  with  a  dazzling  smile, 
"to  anticipate  this  dissipation.  Good-night, 
papa.  To-morrow,  then." 

"To-morrow,"  repeated  Mr.  Rightbody, 
with  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  the  girl  vaguely. 
"  Good- night." 

Miss  Alice  tripped  from  the  room,  possibly 
a  trifle  the  more  light-heartedly  that  she  had 
parted  from  her  father  in  one  of  his  rare 
moments  of  illogical  human  weakness.  And 
perhaps  it  was  well  for  the  poor  girl  that  she 
kept  this  single  remembrance  of  him,  when,  I 
fear,  in  after-}Tears,  his  methods,  his  reason- 
ing, and  indeed  all  he  had  tried  to  impress 
upon  her  childhood,  had  faded  from  her 
memory. 

For,  when  she  had  left,  Mr.  Rightbody  fell 
again  to  the  examination  of  his  old  letters. 
This  was  quite  absorbing ;  so  much  so,  that 


156     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

he  did  not  notice  the  footsteps  of  Mrs.  Right- 
body  on  the  staircase  as  she  passed  to  her 
chamber,  nor  that  she  had  paused  on  the 
landing  to  look  through  the  glass  half-door  on 
her  husband,  as  he  sat  there  with  the  letters 
beside  him,  and  the  telegram  opened  before 
him.  Had  she  waited  a  moment  later,  she 
would  have  seen  him  rise,  and  walk  to  the 
sofa  with  a  disturbed  air  and  a  slight  con- 
fusion ;  so  that,  on  reaching  it,  he  seemed  to 
hesitate  to  lie  down,  although  pale  and  evi- 
dently faint.  Had  she  still  waited,  she  would 
have  seen  him  rise  again  with  an  agonized 
effort,  stagger  to  the  table,  fumblingly  refold 
and  replace  the  papers  in  the  cabinet,  and 
lock  it,  and,  although  now  but  half-conscious, 
hold  the  telegram  over  the  gas-flame  till  it 
was  consumed.  For,  had  she  waited  until 
this  moment,  she  would  have  flown  unhesi- 
tating^ to  his  aid,  as,  this  act  completed,  he 
staggered  again,  reached  his  hand  toward  the 
bell,  but  vainly,  and  then  fell  prone  upon  the 
sofa. 

But   alas !    no  providential   nor   accidental 
hand  was  raised  to  save  him,  or  anticipate  the 


THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY.    157 

progress  of  this  story.  And  when,  half  an 
hour  later,  Mrs.  Rightbody,  a  little  alarmed, 
and  more  indignant  at  his  violation  of  the 
doctor's  rules,  appeared  upon  the  threshold, 
Mr.  Rightbody  lay  upon  the  sofa,  dead ! 

With  bustle,  with  thronging  feet,  with  the 
irruption  of  strangers,  and  a  hurrying  to  and 
fro,  but,  more  than  all,  with  an  impulse  and 
emotion  unknown  to  the  mansion  when  its 
owner  was  in  life,  Mrs.  Rightbody  strove  to 
call  back  the  vanished  life,  but  in  vain.  The 
highest  medical  intelligence,  called  from  its 
bed  at  this  strange  hour,  saw  only  the  demon- 
stration of  its  theories  made  a  year  before. 
Mr.  Rightbody  was  dead  — without  doubt,  with- 
out nrysteiy,  even  as  a  correct  man  should  die 
—  logically,  and  indorsed  by  the  highest  medi- 
cal authority. 

But,  even  in  the  confusion,  Mrs.  Rightbody 
managed  to  speed  a  messenger  to  the  tele- 
graph-office for  a  cop}'  of  the  despatch  received 
by  Mr.  RightbocVy,  but  now  missing. 

In  the  solitude  of  her  own  room,  and  with- 
out a  confidant,  she  read  these  words  :  — 


158     THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY. 

"  [Copy.] 

"To  MB.  ADAMS  RIGHTBODY,  BOSTON,  MASS. 
"  Joshua  Silsbie  died  suddenly  this  morning.     His 
last  request  was  that  you   should   remember  your 
sacred  compact  with  him  of  thirty  years  ago. 

(Signed)  "  SEVENTY-FOUR. 

"  SEVENTY-FIVE." 

In  the  darkened  home,  and  amid  the  formal 
condolements  of  their  friends  who  had  called  to 
gaze  upon  the  scarcely  cold  features  of  their 
late  associate,  Mrs.  Rightbody  managed  to 
send  another  despatch.  It  was  addressed  to 
"  Seventy-Four  and  Seventy-Five,"  Cotton- 
wood.  In  a  few  hours  she  received  the  follow- 
ing enigmatical  response :  — 

"  A  horse- thief  named  Josh  Silsbie  was 
lynched  yesterday  morning  by  the  Vigilantes 
at  Dead  wood." 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     159 


PART  II. 

THE  spring  of  1874  was  retarded  in  the 
Californian  sierras ;  so  much  so,  that  certain 
Eastern  tourists  who  had  early  ventured  into 
the  Yo  Semite  Valley  found  themselves,  one 
May  morning,  snow-bound  against  the  tem- 
pestuous shoulders  of  El  Capitan.  So  furious 
was  the  onset  of  the  wind  at  the  Upper 
Merced  Canon,  that  even  so  respectable  a  lady 
as  Mrs.  Rightbodj7  was  fain  to  cling  to  the 
neck  of  her  guide  to  keep  her  seat  in  the 
saddle ;  while  Miss  Alice,  scorning  all  mas- 
culine assistance,  was  hurled,  a  lovely  chaos, 
against  the  snowy  wall  of  the  chasm.  Mrs. 
Rightbody  screamed  ;  Miss  Alice  raged  under 
her  breath,  but  scrambled  to  her  feet  again 
in  silence. 

"  I  told  you  so !  "  said  Mrs.  Riglubody,  in 
an  indignant  whisper,  as  her  daughter  again 
ranged  beside  her.  "  I  warned  }X>u  espe- 
cially, Alice  —  that  —  that ' '  — 


160     THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY. 

"  What?"  interrupted  Miss  Alice  curtly. 

c '  That  3~ou  would  need  your  chemiloons  and 
high  boots,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody,  in  a  regret- 
ful undertone,  slightly  increasing  her  distance 
from  the  guides. 

Miss  Alice  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders 
scornfully,  but  ignored  her  mother's  implica- 
tion. 

"You  wei«e  particularly  warned  against 
going  into  the  valley  at  this  season,"  she  only 
replied  grimly. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  raised  her  e}'es  impatiently. 

' '  You  know  how  anxious  I  was  to  discover 
your  poor  father's  strange  Correspondent, 
Alice.  You  have  no  consideration." 

"  But  when  you  have  discovered  him  —  what 
then?  "  queried  Miss  Alice. 

"What  then?" 

"  Yes.  My  belief  is,  that  you  will  find  the 
telegram  only  a  mere  business  cipher,  and  all 
this  quest  mere  nonsense." 

"  Alice  !  Why,  you  yourself  thought  3'our 
father's  conduct  that  night  veiy  strange. 
Have  you  forgotten  ?  ' ' 

The  young  lady  had  not,  but,  for  some  far- 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     161 

reaching  feminine  reason,  chose  to  ignore  it 
at  that  moment,  when  her  late  tumble  in  the 
snow  was  still  fresh  in  her  mind. 

"  And  this  woman,  whoever  she  may  be  "  — 
continued  Mrs.  Rightbody. 

"  How  do  you  know  there's  a  woman  in  the 
case?"  interrupted  Miss  Alice,  wickedly  I 
fear. 

' ;  How  do  —  I  —  know  —  there' s  a  woman  ? ' ' 
slowly  ejaculated  Mrs.  Rightbod}r,  floundering 
in  the  snow  and  the  unexpected  possibility 
of  such  a  ridiculous  question.  But  here  her 
guide  flew  to  her  assistance,  and  estopped 
further  speech.  And,  indeed,  a  grave  problem 
was  before  them. 

The  road  that  led  to  their  single  place  of 
refuge  —  a  cabin,  half  hotel,  half  trading-post, 
scarce  a  mile  away  —  skirted  the  base  of  the 
rocky  dome,  and  passed  perilously  near  the 
precipitous  wall  of  the  valley.  There  was  a 
rapid  descent  of  a  hundred  yards  or  more 
to  this  terrace-like  passage  ;  and  the  guides 
paused  for  a  moment  of  consultation,  coolly 
oblivious,  alike  to  the  terrified  questioning  of 
Mrs.  Rightbody,  or  the  half-insolent  independ- 


162     THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY. 

ence  of  the  daughter.  The  elder  guide  was 
russet-bearded,  stout,  and  humorous :  the 
younger  was  dark-bearded,  slight,  and  serious. 

"  Ef  you  kin  git  young  Bunker  Hill  to  let 
3'ou  tote  her  on  your  shoulders,  I'll  git  the 
Madam  to  hang  on  to  me,"  came  to  Mrs. 
Rightbody's  horrified  ears  as  the  expression 
of  her  particular  companion. 

"  Freeze  to  the  old  gal,  and  don't  reckon  on 
me  if  the  daughter  starts  in  to  pla}-  it  alone," 
was  the  enigmatical  response  of  the  younger 
guidp. 

Miss  Alice  overheard  both  propositions ; 
and,  before  the  two  men  returned  to  their  side, 
that  high-spirited  young  lad}'  had  urged  her 
horse  down  the  declivit}'. 

Alas !  at  this  moment  a  gust  of  whirling 
snow  swept  down  upon  her.  There  was  a 
flounder,  a  mis-step,  a  fatal  strain  on  the 
wrong  rein,  a  fall,  a  few  plucky  but  unavailing 
struggles,  and  both  horse  and  rider  slid  igno- 
miniously  down  toward  the  rocky  shelf.  Mrs. 
Kightbody  screamed.  Miss  Alice,  from  a  con- 
fused debris  of  snow  and  ice,  uplifted  a  vexed 
and  coloring  face  to  the  younger  guide,  a  little 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     163 

the  more  angrity,  perhaps,  that  she  saw  a  shade 
of  impatience  on  his  face. 

"  Don't  move,  but  tie  one  end  of  the  '  lass ' 
under  your  arms,  and  throw  me  the  other," 
he  said  quietly. 

1 '  What  do  you  mean  b}r  '  lass  '  —  the 
lasso?  "  asked  Miss  Alice  disgustedly. 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

u  Then  why  don't  }TOU  say  so?  " 

"  O  Alice  !  "  reproachfully  interpolated  Mrs. 
Rightbody,  encircled  by  the  elder  guide's 
stalwart  arm. 

Miss  Alice  deigned  no  reply,  but  drew  the 
loop  of  the  lasso  over  her  shoulders,  and  let 
it  drop  to  her  round  waist.  Then  she  essayed 
to  throw  the  other  end  to  her  guide.  Dismal 
failure  !  The  first  fling  nearly  knocked  her  off 
the  ledge  ;  the  second  went  all  wild  against  the 
rocky  wall ;  the  third  caught  in  a  thorn-bush, 
twenty  feet  below  her  companion's  feet.  Miss 
Alice's  arm  sunk  helplessly  to  her  side,  afc 
which  signal  of  unqualified  surrender,  the 
younger  guide  threw  himself  half  way  down 
the  slope,  worked  his  way  to  the  thorn-bush, 
hung  for  a  moment  perilously  over  the  para- 


164     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

pet,  secured  the  lasso,  and  then  began  to  pull 
away  at  his  lovety  burden.  Miss  Alice  was  no 
dead  weight,  however,  but  steadity  half-scram- 
bled on  her  hands  and  knees  to  within  a  foot 
or  two  of  her  rescuer.  At  this  too  familiar 
proximit}T,  she  stood  up,  and  leaned  a  little 
stiffly  against  the  line,  causing  the  guide  to 
give  an  extra  pull,  which  had  the  lamentable 
effect  of  landing  her  almost  in  his  arms-.  As 
it  was,  her  intelligent  forehead  struck  his  nose 
sharply,  and  I  regret  to  add,  treating  of  a 
romantic  situation,  caused  that  somewhat 
prominent  sign  and  token  of  a  hero  to  bleed 
freely.  Miss  Alice  instant!}'  clapped  a  handful 
of  snow  over  his  nostrils. 

"  Now  elevate  your  right  arm,"  she  said 
commandingly. 

He  did  as  he  was  bidden,  but  sulkily. 

"  That  compresses  the  artery." 

No  man,  with  a  pretty  woman's  hand  and 
a  handful  of  snow  over  his  mouth  and  nose, 
could  effectively  utter  a  heroic  sentence,  nor, 
with  his  arm  elevated  stiffly  over  his  head, 
assume  a  heroic  attitude.  But,  when  his  mouth 
was  free  again,  he  said  half-sulkily,  half-apolo- 
getically,  — 


THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY.    165 

" 1  might  have  known  a  girl  couldn't  throw 
worth  a  cent." 

"  Why?  "  demanded  Miss  Alice  sharply. 

1 '  Bec/iuse  —  why  —  because  —  you  see  — 
they  haven't  got  the  experience,"  he  stam- 
mered feebly. 

"Nonsense!  they  haven't  the  clavicle  — 
that's  all !  It's  because  I'm  a  woman,  and 
smaller  in  the  collar-bone,  that  I  haven't  the 
play  of  the  fore-arm  which  you  have.  See  !  " 
She  squared  her  shoulders  slightly,  and  turned 
the  blaze  of  her  dark  e}Tes  full  on  his.  "  Ex- 
perience, indeed  !  A  girl  can  learn  any  thing 
a  boy  can." 

Apprehension  took  the  place  of  ill-humor 
in  her  hearer.  He  turned  his  eyes  hastily 
away,  and  glanced  above  him.  The  elder 
guide  had  gone  forward  to  catch  Miss  Alice's 
horse,  which,  relieved  of  his  rider,  was  floun- 
dering toward  the  trail.  Mrs.  Rightbod}'  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  And  these  two  were  still 
twent}T  feet  below  the  trail ! 

There  was  an  awkward  pause. 

"  Shall  I  pull  you  up  the  same  way?  "  he 
queried.  Miss  Alice  looked  at  his  nose,  and 


166     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

hesitated.  "Or  will  you  take  my  hand?" 
he  added  in  surly  impatience.  To  his  sur- 
prise, Miss  Alice  took  his  hand,  and  they 
began  the  ascent  together. 

But  the  way  was  difficult  and  dangerous. 
Once  or  twice  her  feet  slipped  on  the  smoothly- 
worn  rock  beneath ;  and  she  confessed  to  an 
inward  thankfulness  when  her  uncertain  femi- 
nine hand-grip  was  exchanged  for  his  strong 
arm  around  her  waist.  Not  that  he  was  un- 
gentle ;  but  Miss  Alice  angrily  felt  that  he  had 
cmce  or  twice  exercised  his  superior  masculine 
functions  in  a  rough  way ;  and  yet  the  next 
moment  she  would  have  probably  rejected  the 
idea  that  she  had  even  noticed  it.  There  was 
no  doubt,  however,  that  he  was  a  little  surly. 

A  fierce  scramble  finally  brought  them  back 
in  safety  to  the  trail ;  but  in  the  action  Miss 
Alice's  shoulder,  striking  a  projecting  bowlder, 
wrung  from  her  a  feminine  cry  of  pain,  her 
first  sign  of  womanly  weakness.  The  guide 
stopped  instantly. 

4 '  I  am  afraid  I  hurt  3^011  ?  ' ' 

She  raised  her  brown  lashes,  a  trifle  moist 
from  suffering,  looked  in  his  eyes,  and  dropped 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.  167 

her  own.  Why,  she  could  not  tell.  And  yet 
he  had  certainly  a  kind  face,  despite  its  seri- 
ousness ;  and  a  fine  face,  albeit  unshorn  and 
weather-beaten.  Her  own  eyes  had  never 
been  so  near  to  any  man's  before,  save  her 
lover's ;  and  yet  she  had  never  seen  so  much 
in  even  his.  She  slipped  her  hand  away,  not 
with  any  reference  to  him,  but  rather  to  ponder 
over  this  singular  experience,  and  somehow 
felt  uncomfortable  thereat. 

Nor  was  he  less  so.  It  was  but  a  few  clays 
ago  that  he  had  accepted  the  charge  of  this 
young  woman  from  the  elder  guide,  who  was 
the  recognized  escort  of  the  Rightbody  party, 
having  been  a  former  correspondent  of  her 
father's.  He  had  been  hired  like  an}'  other 
guide,  but  had  undertaken  the  task  with  that 
chivalrous  enthusiasm  which  the  average  Cali- 
fornian  always  extends  to  the  sex  so  rare  to 
him.  But  the  illusion  had  passed  ;  and  he  had 
dropped  into  a  sulk}',  practical  sense  of  his 
situation,  perhaps  fraught  writh  less  danger  to 
himself.  Only  when  appealed  to  by  his  man- 
hood or  her  weakness,  he  had  forgotten  his 
wounded  vanity. 


168     THE  GEE  AT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

He  strode  moodily  ahead,  dutifully  breaking 
the  path  for  her  in  the  direction  of  the  distant 
canon,  where  Mrs.  Bightbody  and  her  friend 
awaited  them.  Miss  Alice  was  first  to  speak. 
In  this  trackless,  uncharted  terra  incognita  of 
the  passions,  it  is  always  the  woman  who  steps 
out  to  lead  the  way. 

"  You  know  "this  place  very  well.  I  suppose 
you  have  lived  here  long  ?  ' ' 

"Yes." 

"  You  were  not  born  here  —  no  ?  ", 

A  long  pause. 

"  I  observe  they  call  you  fc  Stanislaus  Joe.' 
Of  course  that  is  not  your  real  name  ? '  * 
(Mem. — Miss  Alice  had  never  called  him 
any  thing  ^  usually  prefacing  any  request  with  a 
languid,  "  O-er-er,  please,  mister-er-a !  "  ex- 
plicit enough  for  his  station.) 

"No." 

Miss  Alice  (trotting  after  him,  and  bawling 
in  his  ear) .  —  "  What  name  did  you  say  ?  ' ' 

The  Man  (doggedly).  —  "  I  don't  know." 

Nevertheless,  when  the}T  reached  the  cabin, 
after  an  half-hour's  buffeting  with  the  storm, 
Miss  Alice  applied  herself  to  her  mother's 
escort,  Mr.  R}Tder. 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     169 

"  What's  the  name  of  the  man  who  takes 
care  of  my  horse  ?  ' ' 

"  Stanislaus  Joe,"  responded  Mr.  Ryder. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  No.  Sometimes  he's  called  Joe  Stanis- 
laus." 

Miss  Alice  (satirically).  —  "I  suppose  it's 
the  custom  here  to  send  young  ladies  out  with 
gentlemen  who  hide  their  names  under  an 
alias  ?" 

Mr.  Ryder  (greatly  perplexed).  —  "Why,, 
dear  me,  Miss  Alice,  you  allers  'peared  to  me 
as  a  gal  as  was  able  to  take  keer  ' '  — 

Miss  Alice  (interrupting  with  a  wounded, 
dove-like  timidity).  —  "Oh,  never  mind, 
please  !  " 

The  cabin  offered  but  scanty  accommodation 
to  the  tourists ;  which  fact,  when  indignantly 
presented  by  Mrs.  Rightbody,  was  explained 
by  the  good-humored  Ryder  from  the  circum- 
stance that  the  usual  hotel  was  only  a  slight 
aifair  of  boards,  cloth,  and  paper,  put  up 
during  the  season,  and  partly  dismantled  in 
the  fall.  "  You  couldn't  be  kept  warm  enough 
there,"  he  added.  Nevertheless  Miss  Alice 


170     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

noticed  that  both  Mr.  Ryder  and  Stanislaus 
Joe  retired  there  with  their  pipes,  after  having 
prepared  the  ladies'  supper,  with  the  assistance 
of  an  Indian  woman,  who  apparently  emerged 
from  the  earth  at  the  coming  of  the  party,  and 
disappeared  as  mysteriously. 

The  stars  came  out  brightly  before  they 
slept ;  and  the  next  morning  a  clear,  unwink- 
ing sun  beamed  with  almost  summer  power 
through  the  shutterless  window  of  their  cabin, 
and  ironically  disclosed  the  details  of  its  rude 
interior.  Two  or  three  mangy,  half-eaten 
buffalo-robes,  a  bear-skin,  some  suspicious- 
looking  blankets,  rifles  and  saddles,  deal-tables, 
and  barrels,  made  up  its  scant  inventory.  A 
strip  of  faded  calico  hung  before  a  recess  near 
the  chimney,  but  so  blackened  by  smoke  and 
age  that  even  feminine  curiosh^  respected  its 
secret.  Mrs.  Rightbody  was  in  high  spirits, 
and  informed  her  daughter  that  she  was  at 
last  on  the  track  of  her  husband's  unknown 
correspondent.  "  Seventy-Four  and  Sevent}'- 
Five  represent  two  members  of  the  Vigilance 
Committee,  my  dear,  and  Mr.  Ryder  will 
assist  me  to  find  them." 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.  171 

"Mr.  R}~der !  "  ejaculated  Miss  Alice,  in 
scornful  astonishment. 

u  Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody,  with  a  sus- 
picious assumption  of  sudden  defence,  i4}Tou 
injure  yourself,  }rou  injure  me,  by  this  exclu- 
sive attitude.  Mr.  Ryder  is  a  friend  of  your 
father's,  an  exceeding!}'  well-informed  gentle- 
man. I  have  not,  of  course,  imparted  to  him 
the  extent  of  my  suspicions.  But  he  can  help 
me  to  what  I  must  and  will  know.  You  might 
treat  him  a  little  more  civilly  —  or,  at  least,  a 
little  better  than  3^011  do  his  servant,  your 
guide.  Mr.  Ryder  is  a  gentleman,  and  not  a 
paid  courier." 

Miss  Alice  was  suddenly  attentive.  When 
she  spoke  again,  she  asked,  u  Why  do  you 
not  find  something  about  this  Silsbie  —  who- 
died  —  or  was  hung  —  or  something  of  that 
kind?" 

"  Child!"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody,  "don't 
you  see  there  was  no  Silsbie,  or,  if  there  was, 
he  was  simply  the  confidant  of  that  —  wo- 
man?" 

A  knock  at  the  door,  announcing  the  pres- 
ence of  Mr.  Ryder  and  Stanislaus  Joe  with 


172     THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY. 

the  horses,  checked  Mrs.  Rightbody's  speech. 
As  the  animals  were  being  packed,  Mrs. 
Rightbody  for  a  moment  withdrew  in  confi- 
dential conversation  with  Mr.  Ryder,  and,  to 
the  young  lady's  still  greater  annoyance,  left 
her  alone  with  Stanislaus  Joe.  Miss  Alice 
was  not  in  good  temper,  but  she  felt  it  neces- 
sary to  say  something. 

"  I  hope  the  hotel  offers  better  quarters  for 
travellers  than  this  in  summer/'  she  began. 

"  It  does." 

' 4  Then  this  does  not  belong  to  it  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  ma'am." 

4 'Who  lives  here,  then?" 

"I  do." 

"I  beg  }Tour  pardon,"  stammered  Miss 
Alice,  "  I  thought  you  lived  where  we  hired  — 
where  we  met  you  —  in  —  in  —  You  must 
excuse  me." 

"  I'm  not  a  regular  guide  ;  but  as  times  were 
hard,  and  I  was  out  of  grub,  I  took  the  job." 

"  Out  of  grub!"  "job!"  And  she  was 
the  "job."  What  would  Henry  Marvin  say? 
It  would  nearly  kill  him.  She  began  herself 
to  feel  a  little  frightened,  and  walked  towards 
the  door. 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.    173 

"  One  moment,  miss  !  " 

The  young  girl  hesitated.  The  man's  tone 
was  surly,  and  yet  indicated  a  certain  kind  of 
half-pathetic  grievance.  Her  curiosity  got  the 
better  of  her  prudence,  and  she  turned  back. 

u  This  morning/'  he  began  hastily,  "  when 
we  were  coming  down  the  valley,  you  picked 
me  up  twice." 

"I  picked  you  up  ?  "  repeated  the  aston- 
ished Alice. 

"  Yes,  contradicted  me:  that's  what  I 
mean,  —  once  when  you  said  those  rocks  were 
volcanic,  once  when  you  said  the  flower  you 
picked  was  a  poppy.  I  didn't  let  on  at  the 
time,  for  it  wasn't  my  say ;  but  all  the  while 
you  were  talking  I  might  have  laid  for  you  ' '  — 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Alice 
haughtily. 

"  I  might  have  entrapped  you  before  folks. 
But  I  only  want  }TOU  to  know  that  I'm  right, 
and  here  are  the  books  to  show  it." 

He  drew  aside  the  dingy  calico  curtain, 
revealed  a  small  shelf  of  bulk}'  books,  took 
down  two  large  volumes,  — one  of  botany,  one 
of  geology,  —  nervously  sought  his  text,  and 
put  them  in  Alice's  outstretched  hands. 


174     THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY. 

"I  had  no  Intention"  —  she  began,  half- 
proudly,  half-embarrasseclly. 

"  Am  I  right,  miss?  "  he  interrupted. 

"  I  presume  you  are,  if  you  say  so." 

"  That's  all,  ma'am.     Thank  you  !  " 

Before  the  girl  had  time  to  repty,  he  was 
gone.  When  he  again  returned,  it  was  with 
her  horse,  and  Mrs.  Rightbody  and  Ryder 
were  awaiting  her.  But  Miss  Alice  noticed 
that  his  own  horse  was  missing. 

"  Are  }'Qu  not  going  with  us?  "  she  asked. 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Oh,  indeed!  " 

Miss  Alice  felt  her  speech  was  a  feeble  con- 
ventionalism ;  but  it  was  all  she  could  say. 
She,  however,  did  something.  Hitherto  it 
had  been  her  habit  to  systematically  reject  his 
assistance  in  mounting  to  her  seat.  Now  she 
awaited  him.  As  he  approached,  she  smiled, 
and  put  out  her  little  foot.  He  instantly 
stooped  ;  she  placed  it  in  his  hand,  rose  with 
a  spring,  and  for  one  supreme  moment  Stanis- 
laus Joe  held  her  unresistingly  in  his  arms. 
The  next  moment  she  was  in  the  saddle ;  but 
in  that  brief  interval  of  sixty  seconds  she  had 
uttered  a  volume  in  a  single  sentence,  — 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     175 

"  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  !  " 

He  muttered  a  reply,  and  turned  his  face 
aside  quickly  as  if  to  hide  it. 

Miss  Alice  cantered  forward  with  a  smile, 
but  pulled  her  hat  down  over  her  eyes  as  she 
joined  her  mother.  She  was  blushing. 


176     THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY. 


PART  HI. 

MR.  RYDER  was  as  good  as  his  word.  A 
day  or  two  later  he  entered  Mrs.  Rightbod}T's 
parlor  at  the  Chrysopolis  Hotel  in  Stockton, 
with  the  information  that  he  had  seen  the 
mysterious  senders  of  the  despatch,  and  that 
they  were  now  in  the  office  of  the  hotel  waiting 
her  pleasure.  Mr.  Ryder  further  informed  her 
that  these  gentlemen  had  only  stipulated  that 
they  should  not  reveal  their  real  names,  and 
that  they  should  be  introduced  to  her  simply 
as  the  respective  4i  Seventy-Four  "  and  "  Sev- 
enty-Five ' '  who  had  signed  the  despatch  sent 
to  the  late  Mr.  Rightbody. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  at  first  demurred  to  this ; 
but,  on  the  assurance  from  Mr.  Ryder  that 
this  was  the  only  condition  on  which  an  inter- 
view would  be  granted,  finally  consented. 

"You  will  find  them  square  men,  even  if 
they  are  a  little  rough,  ma'am.  But,  if  }Tou'd 
like  me  to  be  present,  I'll  stop ;  though  I 


THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY.     Ill 

reckon,  if  ye'd  calkilated  on  that,  you'd  have 
had  me  take  care  o'  your  business  b}T  prox}7, 
and  riot  come  yourself  three  thousand  miles 
to  do  it." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  believed  it  better  to  see 
them  alone. 

"  All  right,  ma'am.  I'll  hang  round  out 
here ;  and  ef  ye  should  happen  to  hev  a  tick- 
lin'  in  }Tour  throat,  and  a  bad  spell  o'  coughin', 
I'll  drop  in,  careless  like,  to  see  if  you  don't 
want  them  drops.  Sabe?  " 

And  with  an  exceedingly  arch  wink,  and  a 
slight  familiar  tap  on  Mrs.  Rightbod}*'s  shoul- 
der, which  might  have  caused  the  late  Mr. 
Kightbody  to  burst  his  sepulchre,  he  withdrew. 

A  very  timid,  hesitating  tap  on  the  door 
was  followed  b}"  the  entrance  of  two  men, 
both  of  whom,  in  general  size,  strength,  and 
uncouthness,  were  ludicrously  inconsistent 
with  their  diffident  announcement.  They  pro- 
ceeded in  Indian  file  to  the  centre  of  the  room, 
faced  Mrs.  Rightbod}7,  acknowledged  her  deep 
courtesy  by  a  strong  shake  of  the  hand,  and, 
drawing  two  chairs  opposite  to  her,  sat  down 
side  by  side. 


178     THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY. 

' '  I  presume  I  have  the  pleasure  of  address- 
ing "  —  began  Mrs.  Rightbody. 

The  man  directly  opposite  Mrs.  Rightbody 
turned  to  the  other  inquiringly. 

The  other  man  nodded  his  head,  and  re- 
plied, — 

"Seventy-Four." 

"  Seventy-Five,"  promptly  followed  the 
other. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  paused,  a  little  confused. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,"  she  began  again, 
"  to  learn  something  more  of  the  circumstances 
under  which  you  gentlemen  sent  a  despatch  to 
my  late  husband." 

"The  circumstances,"  replied  Seventy-Four 
quietly,  with  a  side-glance  at  his  companion, 
"panned  out  about  in  this  yer  style.  We 
hung  a  man  named  Josh  Silsbie,  clown  at 
Deadwood,  for  hoss-stealin*.  When  I  say  we,- 
I  speak  for  Seventy-Five  yer  as  is  present, 
as  well  as  representing  so  to  speak,  seventy- 
two  other  gents  as  is  scattered.  We  hung 
Josh  Silsbie  on  squar,  pretty  squar,  evidence. 
Afore  he  was  strung  up,  Seventy-Five  }-er 
axed  him,  accordin'  to  custom,  ef  ther  was 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.    179 

enny  thing  he  had  to  say,  or  enny  request 
that  he  allowed  to  make  of  us.  He  turns  to 
Sevent}'-Five  yer,  and  "  — 

Here  he  paused  suddenly,  looking  at  his 
companion. 

"  He  sez,  sez  he,"  began  Seventy-Five, 
taking  up  the  narrative,  —  "he  sez,  'Kin  I 
write  a  letter?'  sez  he.  Sez  I,  'Not  much, 
ole  man:  ye've  got  no  time.'  Sez  he,  'Kin 
I  send  a  despatch  by  telegraph?'  I  sez, 
'Heave  ahead.'  He  sez, — these  is  his  dien- 
tikal  words,  — '  Send  to  Adam  Kightbod}r, 
Boston.  Tell  him  to  remember  his  sacred 
compack  with  me  thirty  years  ago.'  ' 

' '  '  His  sacred  compack  with  me  thirty  years 
ago,'  "  echoed  Seventy-Four,  —  "  his  dientikal 
words." 

"What  was  the  compact?"  asked  Mrs. 
Rightbody  anxiously. 

Seventy-Four  looked  at  Seventy-Five,  and 
then  both  arose,  and  retired  to  the  corner  of 
the  parlor,  where  the}'  engaged  in  a  slow  but 
whispered  deliberation.  Presently  they  re- 
turned, and  sat  down  again. 

"We   allow,"    said    Seventy-Four,    quietly 


180     THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY. 

but  decidedly,  "  that  you  know  what  that 
sacred  compact  was." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  lost  her  temper  and  her 
truthfulness  together.  "  Of  course,"  she  said 
hurriedly,  "  I  know.  But  do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  gave  this  poor  man  no  further  chance 
to  explain  before  you  murdered  him  ?  ' ' 

Seventy-Four  and  Seventy- Five  both  rose 
again  slowly,  and  retired.  When  they  re- 
turned again,  and  sat  down,  Sevent}T-Five, 
who  by  this  time,  through  some  subtle  mag- 
netism, Mrs.  Rightbody  began  to  recognize  as 
the  superior  power,  said  gravely,  — 

44  We  wish  to  say,  regarding  this  yer  mur- 
der, that  Seventy-Four  and  me  is  equally 
responsible ;  that  we  reckon  also  to  repre- 
sent, so  to  speak,  sevent}-two  other  gentlemen 
as  is  scattered  ;  that  we  are  ready,  Seventy- 
Four  and  me,  to  take  and  holt  that  responsi- 
bilit}T,  now  and  at  an}'  time,  afore  every  man 
or  men  as  kin  be  fetched  agin  us.  We  wish 
to  say  that  this  yer  say  of  ours  holds  good  yer 
in  Californy,  or  in  any  part  of  these  United 
States." 

"  Or  in  Canady,"  suggested  Seventy-Four. 


THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY.     181 

"Or  in  Canady.  We  wouldn't  agree  to 
cross  the  water,  or  go  to  furrin  parts,  unless 
absolutely  necessar}\  We  leaves  the  chise  of 
wepplngs  to  your  principal,  ma'am,  or  being 
a  lady,  ma'am,  and  interested,  to  an}T  one  you 
may  fetch  to  act  for  him.  An  advertisement 
in  smy  of  the  Sacramento  papers,  or  a  play- 
card  or  handbill  stuck  unto  a  tree  near  Dead- 
wood,  saying  that  Seventy-Four  or  Seventy- 
Five  will  communicate  with  this  yer  principal 
or  agent  of  yours,  will  fetch  us  —  allers." 

Mrs.  Rightbod}T,  a  little  alarmed  and  des- 
perate, saw  her  blunder.  "I  mean  nothing 
of  the  kind,"  she  said  hastily.  "I  only  ex- 
pected that  you  might  have  some  further 
details  of  this  interview  with  Silsbie ;  that 
perhaps  you  could  tell  me"  —  a  bold,  bright 
thought  crossed  Mrs.  Rightbody's  mind  — 
"something  more  about  her." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other. 

"I  suppose  your  society  have  no  objection 
to  giving  me  information  about  7ier,"  said 
Mrs.  Rightbod}^  eagerly. 

Another  quiet  conversation  in  the  corner, 
and  the  return  of  both  men. 


182     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

"  We  want  to  say  that  we've  no  objection." 

Mrs.  Rightbody's  heart  beat  high.  Her 
boldness  had  made  her  penetration  good.  Yet 
she  felt  she  must  not  alarm  the  men  heed- 
lessly. 

"Will  you  inform  me  to  what  extent  Mr. 
Rightbody,  my  late  husband,  was  interested 
in  her?" 

This  time  it  seemed  an  age  to  Mrs.  Right- 
body  before  the  men  returned  from  their  sol- 
emn consultation  in  the  corner.  She  could 
both  hear  and  feel  that  their  discussion  was 
more  animated  than  their  previous  conferences. 
She  was  a  little  mortified,  however,  when  they 
sat  down,  to  hear  Sevent}T-Four  say  slowty,  — 

"  We  wish  to  say  that  we  don't  allow  to 
say  how  much." 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  the  '  sacred  com- 
pact '  between  Mr.  Rightbody  and  Mr.  Silsbie 
referred  to  her  ?  ' ' 

"  We  reckon  it  do." 

Mrs.  Rightbody,  flushed  and  animated, 
would  have  given  worlds  had  her  daughter 
been  present  to  hear  this  undoubted  confir- 
mation of  her  theory.  Yet  she  felt  a  little 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     183 

nervous  and  uncomfortable  even  on  this 
threshold  of  discovery. 

' '  Is  she  here  now  ?  ' ' 

"  She's  in  Tuolumne,"  said  Seventy-Four. 

"  A  little  better  looked  arter  than  formerly," 
added  Seventy-Five. 

"I  see.  Then  Mr.  Silsbie  enticed  her 
away?  " 

"  Well,  ma'am,  it  was  allowed  as  she  runned 
away.  But  it  wasn't  proved,  and  it  generally 
wasn't  her  style." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  trifled  with  her  next  ques- 
tion. "  She  was  pretty,  of  course?  " 

The  eyes  of  both  men  brightened. 

"She  was  that!"  said  Seventy-Four  em- 
phatically. 

"  It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  her !  " 
added  Seventy-Five. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  inwardly  doubted  it;  but, 
before  she  could  ask  another  question,  the  two 
men  again  retired  to  the  corner  for  consulta- 
tion. When  they  came  back,  there  was  a 
shade  more  of  kindliness  and  confidence  in 
their  manner ;  and  Seventy-Four  opened  his 
mind  more  freely. 


184     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

"  We  wish  to  say,  ma'am,  looking  at  the 
thing,  by  and  large,  in  a  far-minded  way, 
that,  ez  you  seem  interested,  and  ez  Mr. 
Rightbody  was  interested,  and  was,  according 
to  all  accounts,  deceived  and  led  away  by 
Silsbie,  that  we  don't  mind  listening  to  any 
proposition  you  might  make,  as  a  lady —  al- 
lowin'  you  was  ekally  interested." 

"I  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody 
quickly.  ' '  And  y ou  will  furnish  me  with  any 
papers  ? ' ' 

The  two  men  again  consulted. 

"We  wish  to  say,  ma'am,  that  we  think 
she's  got  papers,  but"  — 

"I  must  have  them,  you  understand,"  in- 
terrupted Mrs.  Rightbod}',  "  at  any  price." 

"  We  was  about  to  say,  ma'am,"  said  Sev- 
enty-Five slowly,  "  that,  considerin'  all  things, 
—  and  you  being  a  lady  —  you  kin  have  her, 
papers,  pedigree,  and  guaranty,  for  twelve 
hundred  dollars." 

It  has  been  alleged  that  Mrs.  Rightbody 
asked  only  one  question  more,  and  then 
fainted.  It  is  known,  however,  that  by  the 
next  day  it  was  understood  in  Deadwood  that 


THE  GEE  AT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.    185 

Mrs.  Rightbody  had  confessed  to  the  Vigilance 
Committee  that  her  husband,  a  celebrated 
Boston  millionnaire,  anxious  to  gain  posses- 
sion of  Abner  Springer's  well-known  sorrel 
mare,  had  incited  the  unfortunate  Josh  Silsbie 
to  steal  it ;  and  that  finally,  failing  in  this,  the 
widow  of  the  deceased  Boston  millionnaire 
was  now  in  personal  negotiation  with  the 
owners. 

Howbeit,  Miss  Alice,  returning  home  that 
afternoon,  found  her  mother  with  a  violent 
headache. 

"  We  will  leave  here  by  the  next  steamer," 
said  Mrs.  Rightbody  languidly.  "  Mr.  Ryder 
has  promised  to  accompany  us." 

"But,  mother "- 

"  The  climate,  Alice,  is  over-rated.  My 
nerves  are  already  suffering  from  it.  The 
associations  are  unfit  for  you,  and  Mr.  Marvin 
is  naturally  impatient." 

Miss  Alice  colored  slightly. 

"  But  }Tour  quest,  mother?  " 

"  I've  abandoned  it." 

u  But  I  have  not,"  said  Alice  quietly. 
u  Do  you  remember  my  guide  at  the  Yo  Semi- 


186     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTEfiY. 

te,  —  Stanislaus  Joe?  Well,  Stanislaus  Joe  is 
—  who  do  you  think  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Rightbody  was  languidly  indifferent. 

"  Well,  Stanislaus  Joe  is  the  son  of  Joshua 
Silsbie." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  sat  upright  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Yes.  But,  mother,  he  knows  nothing  of 
what  we  know.  His  father  treated  him 
shamefully,  and  set  him  cruelly  adrift  years 
ago  ;  and,  when  he  was  hung,  the  poor  fellow, 
in  sheer  disgrace,  changed  his  name." 

"  But,  if  he  knows  nothing  of  his  father's 
compact,  of  what  interest  is  this?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing!  Only  I  thought  it  might 
lead  to  something." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  suspected  that  "  some- 
thing," and  asked  sharply,  "  And  pray  how 
did  you  find  it  out?  You  did  not  speak  of  it 
in  the  valle}r." 

"  Oh  !  I  didn't  find  it  out  till  to-day,"  said 
Miss  Alice,  walking  to  the  window.  "  He 
happened  to  be  here,  and  —  told  me." 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.    187 


PART  IV. 

IF  Mrs.  Rightbody's  friends  had  been 
astounded  by  her  singular  and  unexpected  pil- 
grimage to  California  so  soon  after  her  hus- 
band's decease,  the}^  were  still  more  astounded 
by  the  information,  a  year  later,  that  she  was 
engaged  to  be  married  to  a  Mr.  Ryder,  of 
whom  only  the  scant  history  was  known,  that 
he  was  a  Californian,  and  former  correspond- 
ent of  her  husband.  It  was  undeniable  that 
the  man  was  wealth}',  and  evidently  no  mere 
adventurer ;  it  was  rumored  that  he  was 
courageous  and  manly:  but  even  those  who 
delighted  in  his  odd  humor  were  shocked  at 
his  grammar  and  slang.  It  was  said  that  Mr. 
Marvin  had  but  one  interview  with  his  father- 
in-law  elect,  and  returned  so  supremely  dis- 
gusted, that  the  match  was  broken  off.  The 
horse-stealing  story,  more  or  less  garbled, 
found  its  way  through  lips  that  pretended  to 
decry  it,  yet  eagerly  repeated  it.  Only  one 


188     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

member  of  the  Rightbody  family  —  and  a  new 
one  —  saved  them  from  utter  ostracism.  It 
was  young  Mr.  Ryder,  the  adopted  son  of  the 
prospective  head  of  the  household,  whose  cul- 
ture, manners,  and  general  elegance,  fascinated 
and  thrilled  Boston  with  a  new  sensation.  It 
seemed  to  many  that  Miss  Alice  should,  in  the 
vicinity  of  this  rare  exotic,  forget  her  former 
enthusiasm  for  a  professional  life ;  but  the 
young  man  was  pitied  by  society,  and  various 
plans  for  diverting  him  from  any  mesalliance 
with  the  Rightbody  family  were  concocted. 

It  was  a  wintry  night,  and  the  second  anni- 
versary of  Mr.  Rightbody 's  death,  that  a  light 
was  burning  in  his  library.  But  the  dead 
man's  chair  was  occupied  by  young  Mr. 
Ryder,  adopted  son  of  the  new  proprietor  of 
the  mansion  ;  and  before  him  stood  Alice,  with 
her  dark  eyes  fixed  on  the  table. 

' c  There  must  have  been  something  in  it, 
Joe,  believe  me.  Did  you  never  hear  your 
father  speak  of  mine?  " 

"Never." 

"But  you  say  he  was  college-bred,  and 
born  a  gentleman,  and  in  his  youth  he  must 
have  had  many  friends." 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.     189 

"Alice,"  said  the  young  man  gravely, 
"  when  I  have  done  something  to  redeem  my 
name,  and  wear  it  again  before  these  people, 
before  you,  it  would  be  well  to  revive  the  past. 
But  till  then"  — 

But  Alice  was  not  to  be  put  down.  "I 
remember,"  she  went  on,  scarcely  heeding 
him,  "  that,  when  I  came  in  that  night,  papa 
was  reading  a  letter,  and  seemed  to  be  dis- 
concerted." 

"  A  letter?" 

"  Yes ;  but,"  added  Alice,  with  a  sigh, 
"when  we  found  him  here  insensible,  there 
was  no  letter  on  his  person.  He  must  have 
destroyed  it." 

' '  Did  you  ever  look  among  his  papers  ?  If 
found,  it  might  be  a  clew." 

The  young  man  glanced  toward  the  cabinet. 
Alice  read  his  eyes,  and  answered,  — 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  The  cabinet  contained  only 
his  papers,  all  perfectly  arranged,  —  you  know 
how  methodical  were  his  habits,  —  and  some 
old  business  and  private  letters,  all  carefully 
put  away." 

''Let  us  see  them,"  said  the  young  man, 
rising. 


190    THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY. 

They  opened  drawer  after  drawer ;  files 
upon  files  of  letters  and  business  papers, 
accurately  folded  and  filed.  Suddenly  Alice 
uttered  a  little  cry,  and  picked  up  a  quaint 
ivory  paper-knife  lying  at  the  bottom  of  a 
drawer. 

"It  was  missing  the  next  day,  and  never 
could  be  found :  he  must  have  mislaid  it  here. 
This  is  the  drawer,"  said  Alice  eagerly. 

Here  was  a  clew.  But  the  lower  part  of 
the  drawer  was  filled  with  old  letters,  not 
labelled,  yet  neatly  arranged  in  files.  Sud- 
denly he  stopped,  and  said,  "  Put  them  back, 
Alice,  at  once." 

"  Why?" 

u  Some  of  these  letters  are  in  my  father's 
handwriting." 

"  The  more  reason  why  7  should  see  them," 
said  the  girl  imperatively.  "Here,  .you  take 
part,  and  I'll  take  part,  and  we'll  get  through 
quicker." 

There  was  a  certain  decision  and  independ- 
ence in  her  manner  which  he  had  learned  to 
respect.  He  took  the  letters,  and  in  silence 
read  them  with  her.  They  were  old  college 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.    191 

letters,  so  filled  with  boyish  dreams,  ambi- 
tions, aspirations,  and  Utopian  theories,  that 
I  fear  neither  of  these  young  people  even 
recognized  their  parents  in  the  dead  ashes  of 
the  past.  They  were  both  grave,  until  Alice 
uttered  a  little  hysterical  cr}T,  and  dropped  her 
face  in  her  hands.  Joe  was  instantly  beside 
her. 

"  It's  nothing,  Joe,  nothing.  Don't  read  it, 
please  ;  please,  don't.  It's  so  funny !  it's  so 
very  queer  ! ' ' 

But  Joe  had,  after  a  slight,  half-playful 
struggle,  taken  the  letter  from  the  girl.  Then 
he  read  aloud  the  words  written  by  his  father 
thirty  years  ago. 

"I  thank  you,  dear  friend,  for  all  you  say 
about  my  wife  and  boy.  I  thank  you  for  re- 
minding me  of  our  boyish  compact.  He  will 
be  ready  to  fulfil  it,  I  know,  if  he  loves  those 
his  father  loves,  even  if  you  should  marry 
years  later.  I  am  glad  for  your  sake,  for  both 
our  sakes,  that  it  is  a  boy.  Heaven  send  you 
a  good  wife,  dear  Adams,  and  a  daughter,  to 
make  my  son  equally  happy." 

Joe   Silsbie  looked   down,   took  the    half- 


192     THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY. 

laughing,  half- tearful  face  in  his  hands,  kissed 
her  forehead,  and,  with  tears  in  his  grave  eyes, 
said,  u  Amen  !  " 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this  sentiment 
was  echoed  heartily  by  Mrs.  Kightbody's 
former  acquaintances,  when,  a  year  later,  Miss 
Alice  was  united  to  a  professional  gentleman 
of  honor  and  renown,  %yet  who  was  known  to 
be  the  son  of  a  convicted  horse-thief.  A  few 
remembered  the  previous  Californian  story, 
and  found  corroboration  therefor ;  but  a  ma- 
jority believed  it  a  just  reward  to  Miss  Alice 
for  her  conduct  to  Mr.  Marvin,  and,  as  Miss 
Alice  cheerfully  accepted  it  in  that  light,  I  do 
not  see  why  I  may  not  end  my  story  with  hap- 
piness to  all  concerned. 


A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT. 


IT  was  the  sacred  hour  of  noon  at  Saramt- 
stadt.  Everybody  was  at  dinner  ;  and  the 
serious  Kellner  of  c '  Der  Wildemann  ' '  glanced 
in  mild  reproach  at  Mr.  James  Clinch,  who, 
disregarding  that  fact  and  the  invitatory  table 
d'hote,  stepped  into  the  street.  For  Mr. 
Clinch  had  eaten  a  late  breakfast  at  Gladbach, 
was  dyspeptic  and  American,  and,  moreover, 
pre-occupied  with  business.  He  was  conse- 
quentry  indignant,  on  entering  the  garden-like 
court  and  cloister-like  counting-house  of  u  Von 
Becheret,  Sons,  Uncles,  and  Cousins,"  to  find 
the  comptoir  deserted  even  by  the  porter,  and 
was  furious  at  the  maid-servant,  who  offered 
the  sacred  shibboleth  "  M ittagsessen  ' '  as  a 
reasonable  explanation  of  the  solitude.  "A 
country,"  said  Mr.  Clinch  to  himself,  "  that 
stops  business  at  mid-da}'  to  go  to  dinner,  and 

193 


194          A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

employs  women-servants  to  talk  to  business- 
men, is  played  out." 

He  stepped  from  the  silent  building  into  the 
equally  silent  Kronprinzen  Strasse.  Not  a 
soul  to  be  seen  anywhere.  Rows  on  rows  of 
two-storied,  gray-stuccoed  buildings  that  might 
be  dwellings,  or  might  be  offices,  all  showing 
some  traces  of  feminine  taste  and  supervision 
in  a  flower  or  a  curtain  that  belied  the  legended 
u  Comptoir,"  or  u  Direction,"  over  their  por- 
tals. Mr.  Clinch  thought  of  Boston  and  State 
Street,  of  New  York  and  Wall  Street,  and 
became  coldly  contemptuous. 

Yet  there  was  clearly  nothing  to  do  but  to 
walk  down  the  formal  rows  of  chestnuts  that 
lined  the  broad  Strasse,  and  then  walk  back 
again.  At  the  corner  of  the  first  cross-street 
he  was  struck  with  the  fact  that  two  men  who 
were  standing  in  front  of  a  dwelling-house 
appeared  to  be  as  inconsistent,  and  out  of  pro- 
portion to  the  silent  houses,  as  were  the  actors 
on  a  stage  to  the  painted  canvas  thoroughfares 
before  which  they  strutted.  Mr.  Clinch  usu- 
ally had  no  fancies,  had  no  eye  for  quaintness  ; 
besides,  this  was  not  a  quaint  nor  romantic 


A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT.  195 

district,  only  an  entrepot  for  silks  and  vel- 
vets, and  Mr.  Clinch  was  here,  not  as  a  tourist, 
but  as  a  purchaser.  The  guide-books  had 
ignored  Sammtstadt,  and  he  was  too  good  an 
American  to  waste  time  in  looking  up  uncata- 
logued  curiosities.  Besides,  he  had  been  here 
once  before, —  an  entire  day  ! 

One  o'clock.  Still  a  full  hour  and  a  half 
before  his  friend  would  return  to  business. 
What  should  he  do?  The  Verein  where  he 
had  once  been  entertained  was  deserted  even 
by  its  waiters  ;  the  garden,  with  its  ostenta- 
tious out-of-door  tables,  looked  bleak  and  bare. 
Mr.  Clinch  was  not  artistic  in  his  tastes  ;  but 
even  he  was  quick  to  detect  the  affront  put 
upon  Nature  by  this  continental,  theatrical 
gardening,  and  turned  disgustedly  away. 
Born  near  a  "  lake  "  larger  than  the  German 
Ocean,  he  resented  a  pool  of  water  twenty-five 
feet  in  diameter  under  that  alluring  title  ;  and, 
a  frequenter  of  the  Adirondacks,  he  could 
scarce  contain  himself  over  a  bit  of  rock-work 
twelve  feet  high.  "A  country,"  said  Mr. 
Clinch,  "that"  —  but  here  he  remembered 
that  he  had  once  seen  in  a  park  in  his  native 


196  A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

city  an  imitation  of  the  Drachenfels  in  plaster, 
on  a  scale  of  two  inches  to  the  foot,  and 
checked  his  speech. 

He  turned  into  the  principal  alike  of  the 
town.  There  was  a  long  white  building  at 
one  end,  —  the  Balinlwf:  at  the  other  end  he 
remembered  a  dye-house.  He  had,  a  year 
ago,  met  its  hospitable  proprietor :  he  would 
call  upon  him  now. 

But  the  same  solitude  confronted  him  as  he 
passed  the  porter's  lodge  beside  the  gateway. 
The  counting-house,  half  villa,  half  factory, 
must  have  convoked  its  humanity  in  some  out- 
of-the-way  refector}T,  for  the  halls  and  passages 
were  tenantless.  For  the  first  time  he  began 
to  be  impressed  with  a  certain  foreign  quaint- 
ness  in  the  surroundings ;  he  found  himself 
also  recalling  something  he  had  read  when  a 
boy,  about  an  enchanted  palace  whose  inhab- 
itants awoke  on  the  arrival  of  a  long-pre- 
destined Prince.  To  assure  himself  of  the 
absolute  ridiculousness  of  this  fancy,  he  took 
from  his  pocket  the  business-card  of  its  pro- 
prietor, a  sample  of  dye,  and  recalled  his  own 
personality  in  a  letter  of  credit.  Having  dis- 


A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT.          197 

missed  this  idea  from  his  mind,  he  lounged  on 
again  through  a  rustic  lane  that  might  have 
led  to  a  farm-house,  yet  was  still,  absurdly 
enough,  a  part  of  the  factory  gardens.  Cross- 
ing a  ditch  by  a  causeway,  he  presently  came 
to  another  ciitch  and  another  causeway,  and 
then  found  himself  idly  contemplating  a  mas- 
sive, ivy- clad,  venerable  brick  wall.  As  a 
mere  wall  it  might  not  have  attracted  his  atten- 
tion ;  but  it  seemed  to  enter  and  bur}^  itself  at 
right  angles  in  the  side-wall  of  a  quite  modern- 
looking  dwelling.  After  satisfying  himself  of 
this  fact,  he  passed  on  before  the  dwelling, 
but  was  amazed  to  see  the  wall  re-appear  on 
the  other  side  exactty  the  same,  —  old,  ivy- 
grown  ,  sturdy,  uncompromising,  and  ridicu- 
lous. Could  it  actually  be  a  part  of  the 
house?  He  turned  back,  and  repassed  the 
front  of  the  building.  The  entrance-door  was 
hospitably  open.  There  was  a  hall  and  a  stair- 
case, but  —  by  all  that  was  preposterous!  — 
they  were  built  over  and  around  the  jcentral 
brick  intrusion.  The  wall  actually  ran  through 
the  house  !  "A  country,"  said  Mr.  Clinch  to 
himself,  "  where  they  build  their  houses  over 


198  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

ruins  to  accommodate  them,  or  save  the  trou- 
ble of  removal,  is" — ,  but  a  very  pleasant 
voice  addressing  him  here  stopped  his  usual 
hasty  conclusion. 

"  Guten  Morgen!  " 

Mr.  Clinch  looked  hastily  up.  Leaning  on 
the  parapet  of  what  appeared  to  be  a  garden 
on  the  roof  of  the  house  was  a  young  girl, 
red-cheeked,  bright-eyed,  blonde-haired.  The 
voice  was  soft,  subdued,  and  mellow  ;  it  was 
part  of  the  new  impression  he  was  receiving, 
*hat  it  seemed  to  be  in  some  sort  connected 
with  the  iv}r-clad  wall  before  him.  His  hat 
was  in  his.  hand  as  he  answered,  — 

"  G ict en  Morgen  !  " 

"  Was  the  Herr  seeking  an}'  thing?  " 

' '  The  Herr  was  only  waiting  a  long-time- 
coming  friend,  and  had  strayed  here  to  speak 
with  the  before-known  proprietor." 

"So?  But,  the  before-known  proprietor 
sleeping  well  at  present  after  dinner,  would 
the  Herr  on  the  terrace  still  a  while  linger  ? ' ' 

The  Herr  would,  but  looked  around  in  vain 
for  the  means  to  do  it.  He  was  thinking  of  a 
scaling-ladder,  when  the  young  woman  re- 


A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT.          199 

appeared  at  the  open  door,  and  bade  him 
enter. 

Following  his  youthful  hostess,  Mr.  Clinch 
mounted  the  staircase,  but,  passing  the  myste- 
rious wall,  could  not  forbear  an  allusion  to  it. 
"It  is  old,  very  old,"  said  the  girl :  "  it  was 
here  when  I  came." 

"That  was  not  very  long  ago,"  said  Mr. 
Clinch  gallantly. 

"No;  but  my  grandfather  found  it  here 
too." 

"And  built  over  it?" 

"  Why  not?  It  is  very,  very  hard,  and  so 
thick." 

Mr.  Clinch  here  explained,  with  masculine 
superiority,  the  existence  of  such  modern 
agents  as  nitre-glycerine  and  dynamite,  per- 
suasive in  their  effects  upon  time-honored 
obstructions  and  encumbrances.  ' 

' '  But  there  was  not  then  what  you  call  — 
this —  ni —  nitro-glycerine." 

"But  since  then?" 

The  3Toung  girl  gazed  at  him  in  troubled 
surprise.  "  My  great-grandfather  did  not 
take  it  away  when  he  built  the  house :  why 
should  we?" 


200          A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

"Oh!  " 

They  had  passed  through  a  hall  and  dining- 
room,  and  suddenly  stepped  out  of  a  window 
upon  a  gravelled  terrace.  From  this  a  few 
stone  steps  descended  to  another  terrace,  on 
which  trees  and  shrubs  were  growing;  and 
yet,  looking  over  the  parapet,  Mr.  Clinch  could 
see  the  road  some  twent}*  feet  below.  It  was 
nearly  on  a  level  with,  and  part  of,  the  second 
story  of  the  house.  Had  an  earthquake 
lifted  the  adjacent  ground?  or  had  the  house 
burrowed  into  a  hill?  Mr.  Clinch  turned  to 
his  companion,  who  was  standing  close  beside 
him,  breathing  quite  audibly,  and  leaving  an 
impression  on  his  senses  as  of  a  gentle  and 
fragrant  heifer. 

u  How  was  all  this  done  ?  " 

The  maiden  did  not  know.  "  It  was 
always  here/' 

Mr.  Clinch  re-ascended  the  steps.  He  had 
quite  forgotten  his  impatience.  Possibly  it 
was  the  gentle,  equable  calm  of  the  girl,  who, 
but  for  her  ready  color,  did  not  seem  to  be 
moved  by  any  thing  ;  perhaps  it  was  the  peace- 
ful repose  of  this  mausoleum  of  the  dead  and 


A   LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT.          201 

forgotten  wall  that  subdued  him,  but  he  was 
quite  willing  to  take  the  old-fashioned  chair  on 
the  terrace  which  she  offered  him,  and  follow 
her  motions  with  not  altogether  mechanical 
eyes  as  she  drew  out  certain  bottles  and 
glasses  from  a  mysterious  closet  in  the  wall. 
Mr.  Clinch  had  the  weakness  of  a  majority  of 
his  sex  in  believing  that  he  was  a  good  judge 
of  wine  and  women.  The  latter,  as  shown 
in  the  specimen  before  him,  he  would  have 
invoiced  as  a  fair  sample  of  the  middle-class 
German  woman,  —  healthy,  comfort-loving, 
home-abiding,  the  very  genius  of  domesti- 
city. Even  in  her  virgin  outlines  the  future 
wholesome  matron  was  already  forecast,  from 
the  curves  of  her  broad  hips,  to  the  flat  lines 
of  her  back  and  shoulders.  Of  the  wine  he 
was  to  judge  later.  That  required  an  even 
more  subtle  and  unimpassioned  intellect. 

She  placed  two  bottles  before  him  on  the 
table,  —  one,  the  traditional  long-necked,  am- 
ber-colored Rheinflasche ;  the  other,  an  old, 
quaint,  discolored,  amphorax-patterned  glass 
jug.  The  first  she  opened. 

"This,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  other, 
"  cannot  be  opened." 


202  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

Mr.  Clinch  paid  his  respects  first  to  the 
opened  bottle,  a  good  quality  of  Nierstemer. 
With  his  intellect  thus  clarified,  he  glanced  at 
the  other. 

"  It  is  from  my  great-grandfather.  It  is  old 
as  the  wall." 

Mr.  Clinch  examined  the  bottle  attentively. 
It  seemed  to  have  no  cork.  Formed  of  some 
obsolete,  opaque  glass,  its  twisted  neck  was 
apparently  hermetically  sealed  by  the  same 
material.  The  maiden  smiled,  as  she  said,  — 

' '  It  cannot  be  opened  now  without  breaking 
the  bottle.  It  is  not  good  luck  to  do  so. 
My  grandfather  and  my  father  would  not." 

But  Mr.  Clinch  was  still  examining  the 
bottle.  Its  neck  was  flattened  towards  the 
mouth ;  but  a  close  inspection  showed  it  was 
closed  b}^  some  equally  hard  cement,  but  not 
glass. 

"  If  J  can  open  it  without  breaking  the 
bottle,  have  I  your  permission?  " 

A  mischievous  glance  rested  on  Mr.  Clinch, 
as  the  maiden  answered,  — 

"  I  shall  not  object ;  but  for  what  will  you 
doit?" 


A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT.          203 

"  To  taste  it,  to  try  it." 

u  You  are  not  afraid?  " 

There  was  just  enough  obvious  admiration 
of  Mr.  Clinch's  audacity  in  the  maiden's  man- 
ner to  impel  him  to  any  risk.  His  only  an- 
swer was  to  take  from  his  pocket  a  small  steel 
instrument.  Holding  the  neck  of  the  bottle 
firmly  in  one  hand,  he  passed  his  thumb  and 
the  steel  twice  or  thrice  around  it.  A  faint 
rasping,  scratching  sound  was  all  the  wonder- 
ing girl  heard.  Then,  with  a  sudden,  dex- 
terous twist  of  his  thumb  and  finger,  to  her 
utter  astonishment  he  laid  the  top  of  the  neck, 
neatly  cut  off,  in  her  hand. 

"  There's  a  better  and  more  modern  bottle 
than  you  had  before,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
cleanly-divided  neck,  "  and  any  cork  will  fit  it 
now." 

But  the  girl  regarded  him  with  anxiety. 
"  And  you  still  wish  to  taste  the  wine?  " 

"  With  your  permission,  yes  !  " 

He  looked  up  in  her  ej^es.  There  was  per- 
mission :  there  was  something  more,  that  was 
flattering  to  his  vanity.  He  took  the  wine- 
glass, and,  slowly  and  in  silence,  filled  it  from 
the  mysterious  flask. 


204  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

The  wine  fell  into  the  glass  clearly,  trans- 
parently, heavily,  but  still  and  cold  as  death. 
There  was  no  sparkle,  no  cheap  ebullition,  no 
evanescent  bubble.  Yet  it  was  so  clear,  that, 
but  for  a  faint  amber-tinting,  the  glass  seemed 
empty.  There  was  no  aroma,  no  ethereal  dif- 
fusion from  its  equable  surface.  Perhaps  it 
was  fancy,  perhaps  it  was  from  nervous  ex- 
citement ;  but  a  slight  chill  seemed  to  radiate 
from  the  still  goblet,  and  bring  down  the  tem- 
perature of  the  terrace.  Mr.  Clinch  and  his 
companion  both  insensibty  shivered. 

But  only  for  a  moment.  Mr.  Clinch  raised 
the  glass  to  his  lips.  As  he  did  so,  he  remem- 
bered seeing  distinctly,  as  in  a  picture  before 
him,  the  sunlit  terrace,  the  pretty  girl  in  the 
foreground,  —  an  amused  spectator  of  his  sac- 
rilegious act, — the  outlying  ivy-crowned  wall, 
the  grass-grown  ditch,  the  tall  factory  chimneys 
rising  above  the  chestnuts,  and  the  distant 
poplars  that  marked  the  Rhine. 

The  wine  was  delicious ;  perhaps  a  trifle, 
only  a  trifle,  heady.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
slight  exaltation.  There  was  also  a  smile  upon 
the  girl's  lip  and  a  roguish  twinkle  in  her  eye 
as  she  looked  at  him. 


A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT.          205 

"  Do  you  find  the  wine  to  your  taste?  "  she 
asked. 

"Fair  enough,  I  warrant,"  said  Mr.  Clinch 
with  ponderous  gallantly  ;  u  but  methinks  'tis 
nothing  compared  with  the  nectar  that  grows 
on  those  ruby  lips.  Nay,  by  St.  Ursula,  I 
swear  it !  " 

.  „  No  sooner  had  this  solemnly  ridiculous 
speech  passed  the  lips  of  the  unfortunate  man 
than  he  would  have  given  worlds  to  have 
recalled  it.  He  knew  that  he  must  be  intoxi- 
cated ;  that  the  sentiment  and  language  were 
utterly  unlike  him,  he  was  miserably  aware  ; 
that  he  did  not  even  know  exactly  what  it 
meant,  he  was  also  hopelessly  conscious.  Yet 
feeling  all  this,  —  feeling,  too,  the  shame  of 
appearing  before  her  as  a  man  who  had  lost  his 
senses  through  a  single  glass  of  wine,  — never- 
theless he  rose  awkwardly,  seized  her  hand, 
and  by  sheer  force  drew  her  towards  him,  and 
kissed  her.  With  an  exclamation  that  -was 
half  a  cry,  and  half  a  laugh,  she  fled  from  him, 
leaving  him  alone  and  bewildered  on  the  ter- 
race. 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Clinch  supported  himself 


206  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

against  the  open  window,  leaning  his  throbbing 
head  on  the  cold  glass.  Shame,  mortification, 
an  hysterical  half-consciousness  of  his  utter 
ridiculousness,  and  yet  an  odd,  undefined  terror 
of  something,  by  turns  possessed  him.  Was 
he  ever  before  guilt}r  of  such  perfect  folly? 
Had  he  ever  before  made  such  a  spectacle  of 
himself?  Was,  it  possible  that  he,  Mr.  James 
Clinch,  the  coolest  head  at  a  late  supper,  — 
he,  the  American,  who  had  repeatedly  drunk 
Frenchmen  and  Englishman  under  the  table  — 
could  be  transformed  into  a  sentimental,  stagey 
idiot  by  a  single  glass  of  wine  ?  He  was  con- 
scious, too,  of  asking  himself  these  very  ques- 
tions in  a  stilted  sort  of  rhetoric,  and  with  a 
rising  brutality  of  anger  that  was  new  to  him. 
And  then  every  thing  swam  before  him,  and  he 
seemed  to  lose  all  consciousness. 

But  only  for  an  instant.  With  a  strong 
effort  of  his  will  he  again  recalled  himself,  his 
situation,  his  surroundings,  and,  above  all,  his 
appointment.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  hurriedly 
descended  the  terrace-steps,  and,  before  he  well 
knew  how,  found  himself  again  on  the  road. 
Once  there,  his  faculties  returned  in  full  vigor  ; 


A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT.  207 

he  was  again  himself.  He  strode  briskly  for- 
ward toward  the  ditch  he  had  crossed  only  a  few 
moments  before,  but  was  suddenly  stopped. 
It  was  filled  with  water !  He  looked  up  and 
down.  It  was  clearly  the  same  ditch;  but  a 
flowing  stream  thirty  feet  wide  now  separated 
him  from  the  other  bank. 

The  appearance  of  this  unlooked-for  obstacle 
made  Mr.  Clinch  doubt  the  full  restoration  of 
his  faculties.  He  stepped  to  the  brink  of  the 
flood  to  bathe  his  head  in  the  stream,  and  wash 
away  the  last  vestiges  of  his  potations.  But 
as  he  approached  the  placid  depths,  and  knelt 
down,  he  again  started  back,  and  this  time 
with  a  full  conviction  of  his  own  madness ; 
for  reflected  from  its  mirror-like  surface  was 
a  figure  he  could  scarcely  call  his  own,  although 
here  and  there  some  trace  of  his  former  self 
remained. 

His  close-cropped  hair,  trimmed  a  la  mode, 
had  given  way  to  long,  curling  locks  that 
dropped  upon  his  shoulders.  His  neat  mus- 
tache was  frightfully  prolonged,  and  curled  up 
at  the  ends  stiffly.  His  Piccadilly  collar  had 
changed  shape  and  texture,  and  reached  —  a 


208  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

mass  of  lace  —  to  a  point  midway  of  his  breast. 
His  boots,  — wiry  had  he  not  noticed  his  boots 
before  ?  —  these  triumphs  of.  his  Parisian  boot- 
maker, were  lost  in  hideous  leathern  cases  that 
reached  half  way  up  his  thighs.  In  place  of 
his  former  high  silk  hat,  there  la}T  upon  the 
ground  beside  him  the  awful  thing  he  had  just 
taken  off,  —  a  mass  of  thickened  felt,  flap, 
feather,  and  buckle  that  weighed  at  least  a 
stone. 

A  single  terrible  idea  now  took  possession 
of  him.  He  had  been  "sold,"  "taken  in," 
"done  for."  He  saw  it  all.  In  a  state  of 
intoxication  he  had  lost  his  way,  had  been 
dragged  into  some  vile  den,  stripped  of  his 
clothes  and  valuables,  and  turned  adrift  upon 
the  quiet  town  in  this  shameless  masquerade. 
How  should  he  keep  his  appointment?  how 
inform  the  police  of  this  outrage  upon  a 
stranger  and  an  American  citizen?  how  es- 
tablish his  identity?  Had  the}'  spared  his 
papers?  He  felt  feverishly  in  his  breast. 
Ah! — his  watch?  Yes,  a  watch  —  heavy, 
jewelled,  enamelled  —  and,  b}*  all  that  was 
ridiculous,  five  others!  He  ran  his  hands 


A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT.  209 

into  his  capacious  trunk  hose.  What  was 
this?  Brooches,  chains,  finger-rings, — one 
large  episcopal  one,  —  ear-rings,  and  a  handful 
of  battered  gold  and  silver  coins.  His  papers, 
his  memorandums,  his  passport  —  all  proofs 
of  his  identity  —  were  gone!  In  their  place 
was  the  unmistakable  omnium  gatherum  of  an 
accomplished  knight  of  the  road.  Not  only 
was  his  personality,  but  his  character,  gone 
forever. 

It  was  a  part  of  Mr.  Clinch's  singular  expe- 
rience that  this  last  stroke  of  ill  fortune  seemed 
to  revive  in  him  something  of  the  brutal 
instinct  he  had  felt  a  moment  before.  He 
turned  eagerly  about  with  the  intention  of 
calling  some  one  —  the  first  person  he  met  — 
to  account.  But  the  house  that  he  had  just 
quitted  was  gone !  The  wall !  Ah,  there  it 
was,  no  longer  purposeless,  intrusive,  and 
ivy-clad,  but  part  of  the  buttress  of  another 
massive  wall  that  rose  into  battlements  above 
him.  Mr.  Clinch  turned  again  hopelessly  to- 
ward Sammtstadt.  There  was  the  fringe  of 
poplars  on  the  Rhine,  there  was  the  outlying 
fields  lit  by  the  same  meridian  sun ;  but  the 


210  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

characteristic  chimneys  of  Sammtstadt  were 
gone.  Mr.  Clinch  was  hopelessly  lost. 

The  sound  of  a  horn  breaking  the  stillness 
recalled  his  senses.  He  now  for  the  first  time 
perceived  that  a  little  distance  below  him, 
partly  hidden  in  the  trees,  was  a  queer,  tower- 
shaped  structure  with  chains  and  pulleys,  that 
in  some  strange  way  recalled  his  boyish  read- 
Ing.  A  drawbridge  and  portcullis  !  And  on 
the  battlement  a  figure  in  a  masquerading 
dress  as  absurd  as  his  own,  flourishing  a  ban- 
ner and  trumpet,  and  trying  to  attract  his 
attention. 

"  Waswollen  Sie?" 

"I  want  to  see  the  proprietor,"  said  Mr. 
Clinch,  choking  back  his  rage. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  the  figure  turned 
apparently  to  consult  with  some  one  behind 
the  battlements.  After  a  moment  he  re-ap- 
peared, and  in  a  perfunctory  monotone,  with 
an  occasional  breathing  spell  on  the  trumpet, 
began,  — 

' '  You  do  give  warranty  as  a  good  knight 
and  true,  as  well  as  by  the  bones  of  the  blessed 
St.  Ursula,  that  you  bear  no  ill  will,  secret 


A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT.  211 

enmity,  wicked  misprise  or  conspiracy,  against 
the  body  of  our  noble  lord  and  master  Von 
Kolnsche  ?  And  you  bring  with  3^011  no  am- 
bush, siege,  or  surprise  of  retainers,  neither 
secret  warrant  nor  lettres  de  cachet,  nor  carry 
on  your  knightly  person  poisoned  dagger, 
magic  ring,  witch-powder,  nor  enchanted  bul- 
let, and  that  3^011  have  entered  into  no  unhal- 
lowed alliance  with  the  Prince  of  Darkness, 
gnomes,  hexies,  dragons,  Undines,  Lorelies, 
nor  the  like  ?  ' ' 

44  Come  down  out  of  that,  3^011  d d  old 

fool!"  roared  Mr.  Clinch,  now  perfectly 
beside  himself  with  rage,  —  "  come  down,  and 
let  me  in  !  " 

As  Mr.  Clinch  shouted  out  the  last  words, 
confused  cries  of  recognition  and  welcome,  not 
unmixed  with  some  consternation,  rose  from 
the  battlements  :  "  Ach  Gott !"  "  Mutter  Gott 
—  it  is  he!  It  is  Jarw,  Der  Wanderer.  It 
is  himself."  The  chains  rattled,  the  ponder- 
ous drawbridge  creaked  and  dropped ;  and 
across  it  a  medle3r  of  motle3r  figures  rushed 
pell-mell.  But,  foremost  among  them,  the 
very  maiden  whom  he  had  left  not  ten  min- 


212  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

utes  before  flew  into  his  arms,  and  with  a 
cry  of  joyful  greeting  sank  upon  his  breast. 
Mr.  Clinch  looked  down  upon  the  fair  head 
and  long  braids.  It  certainly  was  the  same 
maiden,  his  cruel  enchantress  ;  but  where  did 
she  get  those  absurd  garments  ? 

u  Willkommen,"  said  a  stout  figure,  advan- 
cing with  some  authority,  and  seizing  his  dis- 
engaged hand,  "where  hast  thou  been  so 
long?" 

Mr.  Clinch,  by  no  means  placated,  coldly 
dropped  the  extended  hand.  It  was  not  the 
proprietor  he  had  known.  But  there  was  a 
singular  resemblance  in  his  face  to  some  one 
of  Mr.  Clinch's  own  kin  ;  but  who,  he  could 
not  remember.  ' '  May  I  take  the  liberty  of 
asking  your  name  ?  ' '  he  asked  coldly. 

The  figure  grinned.  "  Surely  ;  but,  if  thou 
standest  upon  punctilio,  it  is  for  me  to  ask 
thine,  most  noble  Freiherr,"  said  he,  winking 
upon  his  retainers.  "  Whom  have  /the  honor 
of  entertaining?" 

"My  name  is  Clinch, — James  Clinch  of 
Chicago,  111." 

A  shout  of  laughter  followed.     In  the  midst 


A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT.  213 

of  his  rage  and  mortification  Mr.  Clinch  fan- 
cied he  saw  a  shade  of  pain  and  annoj^ance  flit 
across  the  face  of  the  maiden.  He  was  puz- 
zled, but  pressed  her  hand,  in  spite  of  his  late 
experiences,  re-assuringly.  She  made  a  ges- 
ture of  silence  to  him,  and  then  slipped  away 
in  the  crowd. 

"  Schames  KTn'sche  von  Schekargo,"  mim- 
icked the  figure,  to  the  unspeakable  delight  of 
his  retainers.  "  So  !  That  is  the  latest  French 
style.  Holy  St.  Ursula  !  Hark  ye,  nephew  ! 
/  am  not  a  travelled  man.  Since  the  Crusades 
we  simple  Ehine  gentlemen  have  staid  at  home. 
But  I  call  myself  Kolnsche  of  Koln,  at  your 
service." 

"  Very  likely  you  are  right,"  said  Mr. 
Clinch  hotly,  disregarding  the  caution  of  his 
fair  companion;  "  but,  whoever  you  are,  / 
am  a  stranger  entitled  to  protection.  I  have 
been  robbed." 

If  Mr.  Clinch  had  uttered  an  exquisite  joke 
instead  of  a  very  angry  statement,  it  could 
not  have  been  more  hilariously  received.  He 
paused,  grew  confused,  and  then  went  on  hesi- 
tatingly, — 


214  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

"In  place  of  my  papers  and  credentials  I 
find  only  these."  And  he  produced  the  jew- 
elry from  his  pockets. 

Another  shout  of  laughter  and  clapping  of 
hands  followed  this  second  speech;  and  the 
baron,  with  a  wink  at  his  retainers,  prolonged 
the  general  mirth  by  saying,  "By  the  way, 
nephew,  there  is  little  doubt  but  there  has  been 
robbery  —  somewhere. ' ' 

"  It  was  done/'  continued  Mr.  Clinch,  hur- 
r}Ting  to  make  an  end  of  his  explanation, 
"while  I  was  inadvertently  overcome  with 
liquor,  — drugged  liquor/' 

The  laughter  here  was  so  uproarious  that 
the  baron,  albeit  with  tears  of  laughter  in  his 
own  e}^es,  made  a  peremptory  gesture  of 
silence.  The  gesture  was  peculiar  to  the 
baron,  efficacious  and  simple.  It  consisted 
merely  in  knocking  down  the  nearest  laugher. 
Having  thus  restored  tranquillity,  he  strode 
forward,  and  took  Mr.  Clinch  by  the  hand. 
"  By  St.  Adolph,  I  did  doubt  thee  a  moment 
ago,  nephew  ;  but  this  last  frank  confession 
of  thine  shows  me  I  did  thee  wrong.  Willkom- 
men  zu  Hause,  Jann,  drunk  or  sober,  willkom- 
men  zu  Cracowen." 


A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT.          215 

More  and  more  notified,  but  convinced  of 
the  folly  of  any  further  explanation,  Mr.  Clinch 
took  the  extended  hand  of  his  alleged  uncle, 
and  permitted  himself  to  be  led  into  the  cas- 
tle. They  passed  into  a  large  banqueting-hall 
adorned  with  armor  and  implements  of  the 
chase.  Mr.  Clinch  could  not  help  noticing, 
that,  although  the  appointments  were  liberal 
and  picturesque,  the  ventilation  was  bad,  and 
the  smoke  from  the  huge  chimney  made  the 
air  murky.  The  oaken  tables,  massive  in 
carving  and  rich  in  color,  were  unmistakably 
greasy ;  and  Mr.  Clinch  slipped  on  a  piece  of 
meat  that  one  of  the  dozen  half- wild  dogs  who 
were  occup}Ting  the  room  was  tearing  on  the 
floor.  The  dog,  3relping,  ran  between  the  legs 
of  a  retainer,  precipitating  him  upon  the  baron, 
who  instantly,  with  the  "  equal  foot "  of  fate, 
kicked  him  and  the  dog  into  a  corner. 

c  '  And  whence  came  you  last  ?  ' '  asked  the 
baron,  disregarding  the  little  contretemps,  and 
throwing  himself  heavily  on  an  oaken  settle, 
while  he  pushed  a  queer,  uncomfortable-look- 
ing stool,  with  legs  like  a  Siamese-twin-con- 
nected  double  X,  towards  his  companion. 


216  A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

Mr.  Clinch,  who  had  quite  given  himself 
up  to  fate,  answered  mechanically,  — 

"Paris." 

The  baron  winked  his  eye  with  unutterable, 
elderly  wickedness.  "  Acli  Gott!  it  is  nothing 
to  what  it  was  when  I  was  your  age.  Ah ! 
there  was  Manon,  —  Sieur  Manon  we  used  to 
call  her.  I  suppose  she's  getting  old  now. 
How  goes  on  the  feud  between  the  students 
and  the  citizens?  Eh?  Did  you  go  to  the 
bal  in  la  Cite?" 

Mr.  Clinch  stopped  the  flow  of  those  Justice- 
Shallow-like  reminiscences  by  an  uneasy  ex- 
clamation. He  was  thinking  of  the  maiden 
who  had  disappeared  so  suddenly.  The  baron 
misinterpreted  his  nervousness.  "What,  ho, 
within  there! — Max,  Wolfgang, — lazy  ras- 
cals! Bring  some  wine." 

At  the  baleful  word  Mr.  Clinch  started  to 
his  feet.  u  Not  forme!  Bring  me  none  of 
your  body-and-soul-destroying  poison  !  I've 
enough  of  it !  " 

The  baron  stared.  The  servitors  stared 
also. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Clinch,  re- 


A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT.          217 

calling  himself  slowly  ;  ' '  but  I  fear  that  Rhine 
wine  does  not  agree  with  me." 

The  baron  grinned.  Perceiving,  however, 
that  the  three  servitors  grinned  also,  he  kicked 
two  of  them  into  obscurity,  and  felled  the 
third  to  the  floor  with  his  fist.  "  Hark  ye, 
nephew,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  astonished 
Clinch,  "give  over  this  nonsense!  By  the 
mitre  of  Bishop  Hat  to,  thou  art  as  big  a  fool 
as  he!" 

"Hatto,"  repeated  Clinch  mechanically. 
"  What !  he  of  the  Mouse  Tower?  " 

"Ay,  of  the  Mouse  Tower!  "  sneered  the 
baron.  "  I  see  you  know  the  story." 

"Why  am  I  like  him?"  asked  Mr.  Clinch 
in  amazement. 

The  baron  grinned.  "  He  punished  the 
Rheinish  wine  as  thou  dost,  without  judgment. 
He  had" - 

"  The  jim-jams,"  said  Mr.  Clinch  mechani- 
cally again. 

The  baron  frowned.  "I  know  not  what 
gibberish  thou  saj^est  by  '  jim-jams ;  '  but  he 
had,  like  thee,  the  wildest  fantasies  and  imagin- 
ings ;  saw  snakes,  toads,  rats,  in  his  boots,  but 


218          A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

principally  rats ;  said  they  pursued  him,  came 
to  his  room,  his  bed  —  acli  Gott!  " 

"Oh !  "  said  Mr.  Clinch,  with  a  sudden  re- 
turn to  his  firmer  self  and  his  native  inquiring 
habits ;  ' '  then  that  is  the  fact  about  Bishop 
Hatto  of  the  story?" 

"  His  enemies  made  it  the  subject  of  a  vile 
slander  of  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  said  the 
baron;  "  and  those  cursed  poets,  who  believe 
every  thing,  and  then  persuade  others  to  do 
so, — may  the  Devil  fly  awaj'  with  them!  — 
kept  it  up." 

Here  were  facts  quite  to  Mr.  Clinch's  scep- 
tical mind.  He  forgot  himself  and  his  sur- 
roundings. 

"And  that  story  of  the  Drachenfels  ? " 
he  asked  insinuatingly,  —  "the  dragon,  you 
know.  "Was  he  too  "  — 

The  baron  grinned.  "  A  boar  transformed 
by  the  druliken  brains  of  the  Bauer s  of  the 
tSiebengebirge.  Acli  Gott!  Ottefried  haa  many 
a  hearty  laugh  over  it ;  and  it  did  him,  as  thou 
knowest,  good  service  with  the  nervous  mother 
of  the  silly  maiden." 

"And  the  seven  sisters  of  Schonberg?" 
asked  Mr.  Clinch  persuasively. 


A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT.          219 

"  '  Schonberg  !  Seven  sisters  ! '  What  of 
them?  "  demanded  the  baron  sharply. 

"  Why,  you  know,  — the  maidens  who  were 
so  coy  to  their  suitors,  and  —  don't  you  re- 
member?— jumped  into  the  Rhine  to  avoid 
them." 

4  c  '  Coy  ?  Jumped  into  the  Ehine  to  avoid, 
suitors  '  ?  "  roared  the  baron,  purple  with  rage. 
"  Hark  ye,  nephew!  I  like  not  this  jesting. 
Thou  knowest  I  married  one  of  the  Schonberg 
girls,  as  did  tlry  father.  How  '  coy '  they 
were  is  neither  here  nor  there  ;  but  mayhap  we 
might  tell  another  story.  Thy  father,  as  weak 
a  fellow  as  thou  art  where  a  petticoat  is  con- 
cerned, could  not  as  a  gentleman  do  other 
than  he  did.  And  this  is  his  reward?  Ach 
Gott!  '  Coy  I  '  And  this,  I  warrant,  is  the 
wa}r  the  story  is  delivered  in  Paris." 

Mr.  Clinch  would  have  answered  that  this 
was  the  wa}r  he  read  it  in  a  guide-book,  but 
checked  himself  at  the  hopelessness  of  the 
explanation.  Besides,  he  was  on  the  eve  of 
historic  information  ;  he  was,  as  it  were,  inter- 
viewing the  past ;  and,  whether  he  would  ever 
be  able  to  profit  by  the  opportunity  or  not,  he 


220  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

could  not  bear  to  lose  it.  "And  how  about 
the  Lorelie  —  is  she,  too,  a  fiction?  he  asked 
glibly. 

"  It  y/as  said,"  observed  the  baron  sardon- 
ically, "that  when  thou  disappeared  with  the 
gamekeeper's  daughter  at  CTbercassel — Heaven 
knows  where  !  —  thou  wast  swallowed  up  in  a 
whirlpool  with  some  creature.  Acli  Gott!  I 
believe  it !  But  a  truce  to  this  balderdash. 
And  so  thou  wantest  to  know  of  the  '  co}r ' 
sisters  of  Schonberg?  Hark  ye,  Jann,  that 
cousin  of  thine  is  a  Schonberg.  Call  you  her 
'coy'?  Did  I  not  see  thy  greeting?  Eh? 
By  St.  Adolph,  knowing  thee  as  she  does  to 
be  robber  and  thief,  call  you  her  greeting" 
4  coy'?" 

Furious  as  Mr.  Clinch  inwardly  became 
under  these  epithets,  he  felt  that  his  explana- 
tion would  hardly  relieve  the  maiden  from 
deceit,  or  himself  from  weakness.  But  out  of 
his  very  perplexity  and  turmoil  a  bright  idea 
was  born.  He  turned  to  the  baron,  — 

' '  Then  you  have  no  faith  in  the  Rhine 
legends  ? ' ' 

The  baron  only  replied  with  a  contemptuous 
shrug  of  his  shoulders. 


A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT.          221 

"  But  what  if  I  told  you  a  new  one?  " 

"You?" 

"  Yes  ;  a  part  of  my  experience?  " 

The-  baron  was  curious.  It  was  early  in 
the  afternoon,  just  after  dinner.  He  might 
be  worse  bored. 

"I've  only  one  condition,"  added  Mr. 
Clinch  :  "  the  young  lady  —  I  mean,  of  course, 
my  cousin  —  must  hear  it  too." 

"  Oh,  ay!  I  see.  Of  course  —  the  old 
trick  !  Well,  call  the  jade.  But  mark  ye,  Sir 
Nephew,  no  enchanted  maidens  and  knights. 
Keep  to  thyself.  Be  as  thou  art,  vagabond 
Jann  Kolnsche,  knight  of  the  road. — What 
ho  there,  scoundrels !  Call  the  Lady  Wil- 
helmina." 

It  was  the  first  time  Mr.  Clinch  had  heard 
his  fair  friend's  name ;  but  it  was  not,  evi- 
dently, the  first  time  she  had  seen  him,  as  the 
very  decided  wink  the  gentle  maiden  dropped 
him  testified.  Nevertheless,  with  hands  lightly 
clasped  together,  and  downcast  ejres,  she  stood 
before  them. 

Mr.  Clinch  began.  Without  heeding  the 
baron's  scornful  grin,  he  graphically  described 


222          A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

his  meeting,  two  years  before,  with  a  Lorelie, 
her  usual  pressing  invitation,  and  his  subse- 
quent plunge  into  the  Rhine. 

"  I  am  free  to  confess,"  added  Mr.  Clinch, 
with  an  affecting  glance  to  Wilhelmina,  "  that 
I  was  not  enamoured  of  the  graces  of  the 
lady,  but  was  actuated  by  my  desire  to  travel, 
and  explore  hitherto  unknown  regions.  I 
wished  to  travel,  to  visit  "  — 

"  Paris,"  interrupted  the  baron  sarcastically. 

"America,"  continued  Mr.  Clinch. 

"What?" 

"  America." 

"  'Tis  a  gnome-like  sounding  name,  this 
Meriker.  Go  on,  nephew  :  tell  us  of  Meriker. ' ' 

With  the  characteristic  fluency  of  his 
nation,  Mr.  Clinch  described  his  landing  on 
those  enchanted  shores,  viz.,  the  Rhine  Whirl- 
pool and  Hell  Gate,  East  River,  New  York. 
He  described  the  railways,  tramways,  tele- 
graphs, hotels,  phonograph,  and  telephone. 
An  occasional  oath  broke  from  the  baron,  but 
he  listened  attentively  ;  and  in  a  few  moments 
Mr.  Clinch  had  the  raconteur's  satisfaction  of 
seeing  the  vast  hall  slowly  filling  with  open- 


A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT.          223 

eyed  and  open-mouthed  retainers  hanging 
upon  his  words.  Mr.  Clinch  went  on  to 
describe  his  astonishment  at  meeting  on  these 
very  shores  some  of  his  own  blood  and  kin. 
"  In  fact,"  said  Mr.  Clinch,  "here  were  a 
race  calling  themselves  c  Clinch,'  but  all  claim- 
ing to  have  descended  from  Komische." 

4 '  And  how  ?  ' '  sneered  the  baron . 

' '  Through  James  Kolnische  and  Wilhelmina 
his  wife,"  returned  Mr.  Clinch  boldly. 
' '  They  emigrated  from  Koln  and  Crefeld  to 
Philadelphia,  where  there  is  a  quarter  named 
Crefeld."  Mr.  Clinch  felt  himself  shaky  as 
to  his  chronology,  but  wisely  remembered  that 
it  was  a  chronology  of  the  future  to  his  hear- 
ers, and  they  could  not  detect  an  anachronism. 
With  his  eyes  fixed  upon  those  of  the  gentle 
Wilhelmina,  Mr.  Clinch  now  proceeded  to 
describe  his  return  to  his  fatherland,  but  his 
astonishment  at  finding  the  ver}T  face  of  the 
country  changed,  and  a  city  standing  on  those 
fields  he  had  played  in  as  a  boy  ;  and  how  he 
had  wandered  hopelessly  on,  until  he  at  last 
sat  weanl}'  down  in  a  humble  cottage  built 
upon  the  ruins  of  a  lordly  castle.  "  So  utterly 


224          A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

travel- worn  and  weak  had  I  become,"  said 
Mr.  Clinch,  with  adroitly  simulated  pathos, 
u  that  a  single  glass  of  wine  offered  me  by  the 
simple  cottage  maiden  affected  me  like  a  pro- 
longed debauch." 

A  long-drawn  snore  was  all  that  followed 
this  affecting  climax.  The  baron  was  asleep  ; 
the  retainers  were  also  asleep.  Only  one 
pair  of  eyes  remained  open,  —  arch,  luminous, 
blue,  —  Wilhelmina's. 

"  There  is  a  subterranean  passage  below  us 
to  Linn.  Let  us  fly  !  "  she  whispered. 

"But  why?" 

"They  always  do  it  in  the  legends,"  she 
murmured  modestly. 

"  But  your  father?" 

u  He  sleeps.     Do  you  not  hear  him?  " 

Certainly  somebody  was  snoring.  But, 
oddly  enough,  it  seemed  to  be  Wilhelmina, 
Mr.  Clinch  suggested  this  to  her. 

"Fool,  it  is  yourself!  " 

Mr.  Clinch,  struck  with  the  idea,  stopped 
to  consider.  She  was  right.  It  certainly  was 
himself. 

With  a  struggle  he  awoke.     The  sun  was 


A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT.          225 

shining.  The  maiden  was  looking  at  him. 
But  the  castle  —  the  castle  was  gone  ! 

u  You  have  slept  well,"  said  the  maiden 
archly.  "  Everybody  does  after  dinner  at 
Sammtstadt.  Father  has  just  awakened,  and 
is  coming." 

Mr.  Clinch  stared  at  the  maiden,  at  the  ter- 
race, at  the  sk}~,  at  the  distant  chimneys  of 
Sammtstadt,  at  the  more  distant  Rhine,  at  the 
table  before  him,  and  finally  at  the  empty 
glass.  The  maiden  smiled.  "  Tell  me,"  said 
Mr.  Clinch,  looking  in  her  eyes,  "is  there  a 
secret  passage  underground  between  this  place 
and  the  Castle  of  Linn?  " 

"  An  underground  passage?  " 

4 '  Ay  —  whence  the  daughter  of  the  house 
fled  with  a  stranger  knight." 

"  They  say  there  is,"  said  the  maiden,  with 
a  gentle  blush. 

"  Can  3'ou  show  it  to  me?  " 

She  hesitated.  "  Papa  is  coming:  I'll  ask 
him." 

I  presume  she  did.  At  least  the  Herr  Con- 
sul at  Sammtstadt  informs  me  of  a  marriage- 
certificate  issued  to  one  Clinch  of  Chicago, 


226  A  LEGEND   OF  SAMMTSTADT. 

and  Kolnische  of  Koln  ;  and  there  is  an  amus- 
ing story  extant  in  the  Verein  at  Sammtstadt, 
of  an  American  connoisseur  of  Rhine  wines, 
who  mistook  a  flask  of  Cognac  and  rock- 
candy,  used  for  "  craftity  qualifying"  lower 
grades  of  wine  to  the  American  standard,  for 
the  rarest  Rudesheimerberg. 


VIEWS    FROM    A    GERMAN 

SPION. 


OUTSIDE  of  nry  window,  two  narrow 
perpendicular  mirrors,  parallel  with  the 
casement,  project  into  the  street,  yet  with  a 
certain  imobtrusiveness  of  angle  that  enables 
them  to  reflect  the  people  who  pass,  without 
an}'  reciprocal  disclosure  of  their  own.  The 
men  and  women  hurrying  by,  not  only  do  not 
know  they  are  observed,  but,  what  is  worse, 
do  not  even  see  their  own  reflection  in  this 
hypocritical  plane,  and  are  consequently  unable, 
through  its  aid,  to  correct  any  carelessness  of 
garb,  gait,  or  demeanor.  At  first  this  seems 
to  be  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  the  human 
animal,  who  invariably  assumes  an  attitude 
when  he  is  conscious  of  being  under  human 
focus.  But  I  observe  that  my  neighbors'  win- 
dows, right  and  left,  have  a  similar  apparatus, 
that  this  custom  is  evidently  a  local  one,  and 
the  locality  is  German.  Being  an  American 

227 


228       VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

stranger,  I  am  quite  willing  to  leave  the  mo- 
rality of  the  transaction  with  the  localit}r,  and 
adapt  m}'self  to  the  custom:  indeed,  I  had 
thought  of  offering  it,  figuratively,  as  an  excuse 
for  any  unfairness  of  observation  I  might  make 
in  these  pages.  But  my  German  mirrors  re- 
flect without  prejudice,  selection,  or  comment ; 
and  the  American  eye,  I  fear,  is  but  mortal, 
and  like  all  mortal  eyes,  figuratively  as  well  as 
in  that  literal  fact  noted  by  an  eminent  scien- 
tific author!  t}T,  infinitely  inferior  to  the  work  of 
the  best  German  opticians. 

And  this  leads  me  to  my  first  observation, 
namely,  that  a  majority  of  those  who  pass  my 
mirror  have  weak  eyes,  and  have  already 
invoked  the  aid  of  the  optician.  Why  are 
these  people,  physically  in  all  else  so  much 
stronger  than  ni}-  countrymen,  deficient  in  eye- 
sight? Or,  to  omit  the  passing  testimony  of 
my  Spion,  and  take  my  own  personal  experi- 
ence, wiry  does  my  young  friend  Max,  bright- 
est of  all  schoolboys,  who  already  wears  the 
cap  that  denotes  the  highest  class,  —  why  does 
he  shock  me  by  suddenly  drawing  forth  a  pair 
of  spectacles,  that  upon  his  fresh,  rosy  face 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      229 

would  be  an  obvious  mocking  imitation  of  the 
Herr  Papa  —  if  German  children  could  ever, 
by  an}  possibility,  be  irreverent?  Or  why 
does  the  Fraulein  Marie,  his  sister,  pink  as 
Aurora,  round  as  Hebe,  suddenly  veil  her  blue 
eyes  with  a  golden  lorgnette  in  the  midst  of 
our  polyglot  conversation?  Is  it  to  evade 
the  direct,  admiring  glance  of  the  impulsive 
American?  Dare  I  say  No?  Dare  I  say  that 
that  frank,  clear,  honest,  earnest  return  of  the 
eye,  which  has  on  the  Continent  most  unfairly 
brought  m}T  fair  countrywomen  under  criticism, 
is  quite  as  common  to  her  more  carefully- 
guarded,  tradition-hedged  German  sisters? 
No,  it  is  not  that.  Is  it  any  thing  in  these 
emerald  and  opal  tinted  skies,  which  seem  so 
unreal  to  the  American  e}Te,  and  for  the  first 
time  explain  what  seemed  the  unreality  of 
German  art?  in  these  mysterious  yet  restful 
Rhine  fogs,  which  prolong  the  twilight,  and 
hang  the  curtain  of  romance  even  over  mid- 
da}^  Surely  not.  Is  it  not  rather,  O  Herr 
Professor  profound  in  analogy  and  philosoph}' ! 
—  is  it  not  rather  this  abominable  black-letter, 
this  elsewhere-discarded,  uncouth,  slowly- 


230       VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

decaying  text  known  as  the  German  Alphabet, 
that  plucks  out  the  bright  eyes  of  youth,  and 
bristles  the  gateways  of  your  language  with  a 
chevaux  de  frise  of  splintered  rubbish?  Why 
must  I  hesitate  whether  it  is  an  accident  of  the 
printer's  press,  or  the  poor  quality  of  the  paper, 
that  makes  this  letter  a  ' 6  k  ' '  or  a  "  t' '  ?  Why 
must  I  halt  in  an  emotion  or  a  thought  because 
"  s  "  and  "/"  are  so  nearly  alike?  Is  it  not 
enough  that  I,  an  impulsive  American,  accus- 
tomed to  do  a  thing  first,  and  reflect  upon  it 
afterwards,  must  grope  my  way  through  a 
blind  alley  of  substantives  and  adjectives,  only 
to  find  the  verb  of  action  in  an  obscure  corner, 
without  ruining  my  e}Tesight  in  the  groping? 

But  I  dismiss  these  abstract  reflections  for  a 
fresh  and  active  resentment.  This  is  the  fifth 
or  sixth  dog  that  has  passed  my  Spion,  har- 
nessed to  a  small  barrow-like  cart,  and  tug- 
ging painfully  at  a  burden  so  liidicroiislj-  dis- 
proportionate to  his  size,  that  it  would  seem  a 
burlesque,  but  for  the  poor  dog's  sad  sincerity. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  I  have  the  barbarian's 
fondness  for  dogs,  and  for  their  lawless,  gentle, 
loving  uselessness,  that  I  rebel  against  this 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      231 

unnatural  servitude.  It  seems  as  monstrous 
as  if  a  child  were  put  between  the  shafts,  and 
made  to  cany  burdens  ;  and  I  have  come  to 
regard  those  men  and  women,  who  in  the  weak- 
est perfunctory  way  affect  to  aid  the  poor 
brute  b}T  laying  idle  hands  on  the  barrow 
behind,  as  I  would  unnatural  parents.  Pega- 
sus harnessed  to  the  Thracian  herdsman's 
plough  was  no  more  of  a  desecration.  I  fancy 
the  poor  dog  seems  to  feel  the  monstrosity  of 
the  performance,  and,  in  sheer  shame  for  his 
master,  forgivingly  tries  to  assume  it  is  play ; 
and  I  have  seen  a  little  "  colley  "  running  along, 
barking,  and  endeavoring  to  leap  and  gambol 
in  the  shafts,  before  a  load  that  any  one  out 
of  this  locality  would  have  thought  the  direst 
cruelty.  Nor  do  the  older  or  more  powerful 
dogs  seem  to  become  accustomed  to  it.  When 
his  cruel  taskmaster  halts  with  his  wares, 
instantly  the  dog,  either.by  sitting  down  in  his 
harness,  or  crawling  over  the  shafts,  or  by 
some  unmistakable  dog-like  trick,  utterly  scat- 
ters any  such  delusion  of  even  the  habit  of 
servitude.  The  few  of  his  race  who  do  not 
work  in  this  ducal  city  seem  to  have  lost  their 


232      VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

democratic  canine  sj^mpathies,  and  look  upon 
him  with  something  of  that  indifferent  calm 
with  which  yonder  officer  eyes  the  road-mender 
in  the  ditch  below  him.  He  loses  even  the 
characteristics  of  species.  The  common  cur 
and  mastiff  look  alike  in  harness.  The  burden 
levels  all  distinctions.  I  have  said  that  he 
was  generally  sincere  in  his  efforts.  I  recall 
but  one  instance  to  the  contrary.  I  remember 
a  young  colley  who  first  attracted  my  atten- 
tion by  his  persistent  barking.  Whether  he 
did  this,  as  the  plough-boy  whistled,  "  for  want 
of  thought/'  or  whether  it  was  a  running  pro- 
test against  his  occupation,  I  could  not  deter- 
mine, until  one  day  I  noticed,  that,  in  barking, 
he  slightly  threw  up  his  neck  and  shoulders, 
and  that  the  two-wheeled  barrow-like  vehicle 
behind  him,  having  its  weight  evenly  poised 
on  the  wheels  by  the  trucks  in  the  hands  of 
its  driver,  enabled  him  by  this  movement  to 
cunningly  throw  the  centre  of  gravity  and  the 
greater  weight  on  the  man,  —  a  fact  which  that 
less  sagacious  brute  never  discerned.  Perhaps 
I  am  using  a  strong  expression  regarding  his 
driver.  It  may  be  that  the  purely  animal  wants 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      233 

of  the  dog,  in  the  way  of  food,  care,  and  shel- 
ter, are  more  bountifully  supplied  in  servitude 
than  in  freedom ;  becoming  a  valuable  and 
useful  property,  he  may  be  cared  for  and  pro- 
tected as  such  (an  odd  recollection  that  this 
argument  had  been  used  forcibly  in  regard  to 
human  slavery  in  my  own  country  strikes  me 
here)  ;  but  his  picturesqueness  and  poetry  are 
gone,  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  peo- 
ple who  have  lost  this  gentle,  sympathetic, 
characteristic  figure  from  their  domestic  life 
and  surroundings  have  not  acquired  an  equal 
gain  through  his  harsh  labors. 

To  the  American  eye  there  is,  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  this  foreign  city,  no  more 
notable  and  striking  object  than  the  average 
German  house-servant.  It  is  not  that  she  has 
passed  my  Spion  a  dozen  times  within  the  last 
hour,  —  for  here  she  is  messenger,  porter,  and 
commissionnaire,  as  well  as  housemaid  and 
cook, — but  that  she  is  always  a  phenomenon 
to  the  American  stranger,  accustomed  to  be 
abused  in  his  own  country  by  his  foreign  Irish 
handmaiden.  Her  presence  is  as  refreshing 
and  grateful  as  the  morning  light,  and  as  in- 


234      VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

evitable  and  regular.  When  I  add  that  with 
the  novelty  of  being  well  served  is  combined 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you  have  in 
your  household  an  intelligent  being  who  reads 
and  writes  with  fluency,  and  }~et  does  not 
abstract  your  books,  nor  criticise  your  literary 
composition ;  who  is  cleanly  clad,  and  neat  in 
her  person,  without  the  suspicion  of  having 
borrowed  her  mistress's  dresses ;  who  may  be 
good-looking  without  the  least  imputation  of 
coquetry  or  addition  to  her  followers  ;  who  is 
obedient  without  servility,  polite  without  flat- 
tery, willing  and  replete  with  supererogatory 
performance,  without  the  expectation  of  im- 
mediate pecuniary  return,  what  wonder  that 
the  American  householder  translated  into 
German  life  feels  himself  in  a  new  Eden  of 
domestic  possibilities  unrealized  in  any  other 
country,  and  begins  to  believe  in  a  present  and 
future  of  domestic  happiness  !  What  wonder 
that  the  American  bachelor  living  in  German 
lodgings  feels  half  the  terrors  of  the  conjugal 
future  removed,  and  rushes  madly  into  love  — 
and  housekeeping !  What  wonder  that  I,  a 
long-suffering  and  patient  master,  who  have 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      235 

been  served  by  the  reticent  but  too  imitative 
Chinaman;  who  have  been  "Massa"  to  the 
childlike  but  untruthful  negro  ;  who  have  been 
the  recipient  of  the  brotherly  but  uncertain 
ministrations  of  the  South-Sea  Islander,  and 
have  been  proudly  disregarded  by  the  Ameri- 
can aborigine,  only  in  due  time  to  meet  the 
fate  of  my  countrymen  at  the  hands  of  Bridget 
the  Celt,  —  what  wonder  that  I  gladly  seize 
this  opportunity  to  sing  the  praises  of  my 
German  handmaid!  Honor  to  thee,  Lenchen, 
wherever  thou  goest !  Heaven  bless  thee  in 
thy  walks  abroad  !  whether  with  that  tightly- 
booted  cavalryman  in  thy  Sunday  gown  and 
best,  or  in  blue  polka-dotted  apron  and  bare 
head  as  thou  trottest  nimbi}'  on  mine  errands, 
—  errands  which  Bridget  O 'Flaherty  would 
scorn  to  undertake,  or,  undertaking,  would 
hopelessly  blunder  in.  Heaven  bless  thee, 
child,  in  thy  earl}'  risings  and  in  thy  later  sit- 
tings, at  thy  festive  board  overflowing  with 
Essig  and  Fett,  in  the  mysteries  of  thy  Kuclien, 
in  the  fulness  of  thy  Bier,  and  in  thy  nightly 
suffocations  beneath  mountainous  and  multitu- 
dinous feathers  !  Good,  honest,  simple-minded, 


236       VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

cheerful,  duty-loving  Lenchen  !  Have  not  thy 
brothers,  strong  and  dutiful  as  thou,  lent  their 
gravity  and  earnestness  to  sweeten  and 
strengthen  the  fierce  youth  of  the  Republic 
beyond  the  seas?  and  shall  not  thy  children 
inherit  the  broad  prairies  that  still  wait  for 
them,  and  discover  the  fatness  thereof,  and 
send  a  portion  transmuted  in  glittering  shekels 
back  to  thee  ? 

Almost  as  notable  are  the  children  whose 
round  faces  have  as  frequently  been  reflected 
in  my  Spion.  Whether  it  is  only  a  fancy  of 
mine  that  the  average  German  retains  longer 
than  any  other  race  his  childish  simplicity  and 
unconsciousness,  or  whether  it  is  because  I 
am  more  accustomed  to  the  extreme  self-asser- 
tion and  early  maturity  of  American  children, 
I  know  not ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
among  no  other  people  is  childhood  as  peren- 
nial, and  to  be  studied  in  such  characteristic 
and  quaint  and  simple  phases,  as  here.  The 
picturesqueness  of  Spanish  and  Italian  child- 
hood has  a  faint  suspicion  of  the  pantomime 
and  the  conscious  attitudinizing  of  the  Latin 
races.  German  children  are  not  exuberant  or 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      237 

volatile  :  they  are  serious,  —  a  seriousness, 
however,  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  grave 
reflectiveness  of  age,  but  only  the  abstract 
wonderment  of  childhood ;  for  all  those  who 
have  made  a  loving  study  of  the  young  human 
animal  will,  I  think,  admit  that  its  dominant 
expression  is  gravity,  and  not  playfulness,  and 
will  be  satisfied  that  he  erred  pitifully  who  first 
ascribed  "light-heartedness"  and  "thought- 
lessness" as  part  of  its  phenomena.  These  lit- 
tle creatures  I  meet  upon  the  street,  — whether 
in  quaint  wooden  shoes  and  short  woollen  petti- 
coats, or  neatly  booted  and  furred,  with  school 
knapsacks  .jauntily  borne  upon  little  square 
shoulders,  —  all  carry  likewise  in  their  round 
chubb}'  faces  their  profound  wonderment  and 
astonishment  at  the  big  busy  world  into  which 
the}'  have  so  lately  stra}~ed.  If  I  stop  to 
speak  with  this  little  maid  who  scarcely  reaches 
to  the  top-boots  of  yonder  cavalry  officer,  there 
is  less  of  bashful  self-consciousness  in  her 
sweet  little  face  than  of  grave  wonder  at  the 
foreign  accent  and  strange  ways  of  this  new 
figure  obtruded  upon  her  limited  horizon.  She 
answers  honestly,  frankly,  prettily,  but  grave- 


238       VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

ly.  There  is  a  remote  possibility  that  I  might 
bite  ;  and,  with  this  suspicion  plainly  indicated 
in  her  round  blue  e}Tes,  she  quiethT  slips  her 
little  red  hand  from  mine,  and  moves  solemnly 
away.  I  remember  once  to  have  stopped  in 
the  street  with  a  fair  country  woman  of  mine  to 
interrogate  a  little  figure  in  sabots,  —  the  one 
quaint  object  in  the  long,  formal  perspective 
of  narrow,  gra}r  bastard-Italian  facaded  houses 
of  a  Rhenish  German  Strasse.  The  sweet 
little  figure  wore  a  dark-blue  woollen  petticoat 
that  came  to  its  knees  ;  gray  woollen  stockings 
covered  the  shapely  little  limbs  below  ;  and  its 
very  blonde  hair,  the  color  of  a  bright  dande- 
lion, was  tied  in  a  pathetic  little  knot  at  the 
back  of  its  round  head,  and  garnished  with  an 
absurd  green  ribbon.  Now,  although  this 
gentlewoman's  sympathies  were  catholic  and 
universal,  unfortunately  their  expression  was 
limited  to  her  own  mother-tongue.  She  could 
not  help  pouring  out  upon  the  child  the  mater- 
nal love  that  was  in  her  own  womanly  breast, 
nor  could  ^he  withhold  the  " baby-talk"  through 
which  it  was  expressed.  But,  alas  !  it  was  in 
English.  Hence  ensued  a  colloquy,  tender 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      239 

and  extravagant  on  the  part  of  the  elder, 
grave  and  wondering  on  the  part  of  the  child. 
But  the  lady  had  a  natural  feminine  desire  for 
reciprocity,  particularly  in  the  presence  of  our 
emotion-scorning  sex,  and  as  a  last  resource 
she  emptied  the  small  silver  of  her  purse  into 
the  lap  of  the  coy  maiden.  It  was  a  declara- 
tion of  love,  susceptible  of  translation  at  the 
nearest  cake-shop.  But  the  little  maid,  whose 
dress  and  manner  certainly  did  not  betray  an 
habitual  disregard  of  gifts  of  this  kind,  looked 
at  the  coin  thoughtful^,  but  not  regretfully. 
Some  innate  sense  of  duty,  equally  strong  with 
that  of  being  polite  to  strangers,  filled  her 
consciousness.  With  the  utterly  unexpected 
remark  that  her  father  did  not  alloiu  her  to  take 
money,  the  queer  little  figure  moved  away, 
leaving  the  two  Americans  covered  with  morti- 
fication. The  rare  American  child  who  could 
have  done  this  would  have  done  it  with  an 
attitude.  This  little  German  bourgeoise  did 
it  naturally.  I  do  not  intend  to  rush  to  the 
deduction  that  German  children  of  the  lower 
classes  habitually  refuse  pecuniary  gratuities  : 
indeed,  I  remember  to  have  wickedly  suggested 


240      VIEWS  FROM  A  GERMAN  SPIOtf. 

to  my  companion,  that,  to  avoid  impoverish- 
ment in  a  foreign  land,  she  should  not  repeat 
the  story  nor  the  experiment.  But  I  simply 
offer  it  as  a  fact,  and  to  an  American,  at 
home  or  abroad,  a  novel  one. 

I  owe  to  these  little  figures  another  experi- 
ence quite  as  strange.  It  was  at  the  close  of 
a  dull  winter's  da}', — a  da}- from  which  all 
out-of-door  festivity  seemed  to  be  naturally 
excluded  :  there  was  a  baleful  promise  of  snow 
in  the  air  and  ^  dismal  reminiscence  of  it 
under  foot,  when  suddenly,  in  striking  contrast 
with  the  dreadful  bleakness  of  the  street,  a 
half-dozen  children,  masked  and  bedizened 
with  cheap  ribbons,  spangles,  and  embroidery, 
flashed  across  my  Spion.  I  was  quick  to 
understand  the  phenomenon.  It  was  the  Car- 
nival season.  Only  the  night  before  I  had 
been  to  the  great  opening  masquerade,  —  a 
famous  affair,  for  which  this  art-loving  city  is 
noted,  and  to  which  strangers  are  drawn  from 
all  parts  of  the  Continent.  I  remember  to 
have  wondered  if  the  pleasure-loving  German 
in  America  had  not  broken  some  of  his  con- 
ventional shackles  in  emigration  ;  for  certainly 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      241 

I  had  found  the  Carnival  balls  of  the  "  Lieder 
Kranz  Society"  in  New  York,  although  deco- 
rous and  fashionable  to  the  American  taste,  to 
be  wild  dissipations  compared  with  the  prac- 
tical seriousness  of  this  native  performance, 
and  I  hailed  the  presence  of  these  children 
in  the  open  street  as  a  promise  of  some  ex- 
travagance, real,  untrammelled,  and  charac- 
teristic. I  seized  my  hat  and  —  overcoat,  —  a 
dreadful  incongruity  to  the  spangles  that  had 
whisked  by,  —  and  followed  the  vanishing  fig- 
ures round  the  corner.  Here  they  were  re-en- 
forced by  a  dozen  men  and  women,  fantasti- 
cally, but  not  expensively  arra}Ted,  looking  not 
unlike  the  supernumeraries  of  some  provincial 
opera  troupe.  Following  the  crowd,  which 
already  began  to  pour  in  from  the  side-streets, 
in  a  few  moments  I  was  in  the  broad,  grove-like 
allee,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  masqueraders. 

I  remember  to  have  been  told  that  this  was 
a  characteristic  annual  celebration  of  the  lower 
classes,  anticipated  with  eagerness,  and 
achieved  with  difficulty,  indeed,  often  only 
through  the  alternative  of  pawning  clothing 
and  furniture  to  provide  the  means  for  this 


242      VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

ephemeral  transformation.  I  remember  being 
warned,  also,  that  the  buffoonery  was  coarse, 
and  some  of  the  slang  hardly  fit  for  "  ears 
polite."  But  I  am  afraid  that  I  was  not 
shocked  at  the  prodigality  of  these  poor  peo- 
ple, who  purchased  a  holiday  on  such  hard 
conditions  ;  and,  as  to  the  coarseness  of  the 
performance,  I  felt  that  I  certainly  might  go 
where  these  children  could. 

At  first  the  masquerading  figures  appeared 
to  be  mainty  composed  of  3^011  ng  girls  of  ages 
varying  from  nine  to  eighteen.  Their  cos- 
tumes —  if  what  was  often  only  the  addition  of 
a  broad,  bright-colored  stripe  to  the  hem  of  a 
short  dress  could  be  called  a  costume  —  were 
plain,  and  seemed  to  indicate  no  particular 
historical  epoch  or  character.  A  general  sug- 
gestion of  the  peasant's  holiday-  attire  was 
dominant  in  all  the  costumes.  Everybody 
was  closely  masked.  All  carried  a  short,  gayly- 
striped  baton  of  split  wood,  called  a  Pritsche, 
which,  when  struck  sharpty  on  the  back  or 
shoulders  of  some  spectator  or  sister-masker, 
emitted  a  clattering,  rasping  sound.  To  wan-, 
der  hand  in  hand  down  'this  broad  allee,  to 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      243 

strike  almost  mechanically,  and  often  monoto- 
nous^, at  each  other  with  their  batons,  seemed 
to  be  the  extent  of  that  wild  dissipation.  The 
crowd  thickened.  Young  men  with  false  noses, 
hideous  masks,  cheap  black  or  red  cotton 
dominoes,  soldiers  in  uniform,  crowded  past 
each  other  up  and  down  the  promenade,  all 
canying  a  Pritsche,  and  exchanging  blows  with 
each  other,  but  always  with  the  same  slow 
seriousness  of  demeanor,  which,  with  their 
silence,  gave  the  performance  the  effect  of  a 
religious  rite.  Occasionally  some  one  shouted  : 
perhaps  a  dozen  young  fellows  broke  out  in 
song ;  but  the  shout  was  provocative  of  noth- 
ing, the  song  faltered  as  if  the  singers  were 
frightened  at  their  own  voices.  One  blithe 
fellow,  with  a  bear's  head  on  his  fur- capped 
shoulders,  began  to  dance  ;  but,  on  the  crowd 
stopping  to  observe  him  seriously,  he  appar- 
ently thought  better  of  it,  and  slipped  away. 
Nevertheless,  the  solemn  beating  of  Pritsche 
over  each  other's  backs  went  on.  I  remember 
that  I  was  followed  the  whole  length  of  the 
allee  by  a  little  girl  scarcely  twelve  }~ears  old, 
in  a  bright  striped  skirt  and  black  mask,  who 


244       VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

from  time  to  time  struck  me  over  the  shoulders 
with  a  regularity  and  sad  persistency  that  was 
peculiarly  irresistible  to  me ;  the  more  so,  as 
I  could  not  help  thinking  that  it  was  not  half 
as  amusing  to  herself.  Once  only  did  "the  or- 
dinary  brusque  gallantry  of  the  Carnival  spirit 
show  itself.  A  man  with  an  enormous  pair 
of  horns,  like  a  half-civilized  satyr,  suddenly 
seized  a  young  girl,  and  endeavored  to  kiss 
her.  A  slight  struggle  ensued,  in  which  I 
fancied  I  detected  in  the  girl's  face  and  manner 
the  confusion  and  embarrassment  of  one  who 
was  obliged  to  overlook,  or  seem  to  accept,  a 
familiarit}7  that  was  distasteful,  rather  than  be 
laughed  at  for  prudishness  or  ignorance.  But 
the  incident  was  exceptional.  Indeed,  it  was 
particularly  notable  to  my  American  eyes  to 
find  such  decorum  where  there  might  easily 
have  been  the  greatest  license.  I  am  afraid 
that  an  American  mob  of  tms  class  would  have 
scarcely  been  as  orderly  and  civil  under  the 
circumstances.  The}T  might  have  shown  more 
humor ;  but  there  would  have  probably  been 
more  effrontery :  they  might  have  been  more 
exuberant ;  they  would  certainly  have  been 


VIEWS  FEOM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      245 

drunker.  I  did  not  notice  a  single  masque- 
rader  unduly  excited  by  liquor  :  there  was  not 
a  word  or  motion  from  the  lighter  sex  that 
could  have  been  construed  into  an  impropriety. 
There  was  something  almost  pathetic  to  me  in 
this  attempt  to  wrest  gayety  and  excitement 
out  of  these  dull  materials ;  to  fight  against 
the  blackness  of  that  wintry  sk}T,  and  the 
stubborn  hardness  of  the  frozen  soil,  with 
these  painted  sticks  of  wood ;  to  mock  the 
dreariness  of  their  poverty  with  these  flaunt- 
ing raiments.  It  did  not  seem  like  them,  or 
rather,  consistent  with  my  idea  of  them. 
There  was  incongruity  deeper  than  their  bi- 
zarre externals  ;  a  half-melancholy,  half-crazy 
absurdity  in  their  action,  the  substitution  of  a 
grim  spasmodic  frenzj-  for  levity,  that  rightly 
or  wrongly  impressed  me.  When  the  increas- 
ing gloom  of  the  evening  made  their  figures 
undistinguishable,  I  turned  into  the  first  cross- 
street.  As  I  lifted  my  hat  to  my  persistent 
young  friend  with  the  Pritsche,  I  fancied  she 
looked  as  relieved  as  nryself.  If,  however,  I 
was  mistaken  ;  if  that  child's  pathway  through 
life  be  strewn  with  rosy  recollections  of  the 


246       VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

unresisting  back  of  the  stranger  American; 
if  any  burden,  O  Gretchen !  laid  upon  thy 
young  shoulders,  be  lighter  for  the  trifling  one 
thou  didst  lay  upon  mine,  —  know,  then,  that  I, 
too,  arn  content. 

And  so,  day  by  day,  has  my  Spion  reflected 
the  various  changing  forms  of  life  before  it. 
It  has  seen  the  first  flush  of  spring  in  the 
broad  allee,  when  the  shadows  of  tiny  leaflets 
overhead  were  beginning  to  checker  the  cool, 
square  flagstones.  It  has  seen  the  glare  and 
fulness,  of  summer  sunshine  and  shadow,  the 
flying  of  November  gold  through  the  air,  the 
gaunt  limbs,  and  stark,  rigid,  death-like  white- 
ness of  winter.  It  has  seen  children  in  their 
queer,  wicker  baby-carriages,  old  men  and 
women,  and  occasionally  that  grim  usher  of 
death,  in  sable  cloak  and  cocked  hat,  —  a  bale- 
ful figure  for  the  wandering  invalid  tourist  to 
meet,  —  who  acts  as  undertaker  for  this  ducal 
cit}T,  and  marshals  the  last  melancholy  proces- 
sion. I  well  remember  my  first  meeting  with 
this  ominous  functionary.  It  was  an  early 
autumnal  morning ;  so  early,  that  the  long 
formal  perspective  of  the  allee,  and  the  deco- 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION.      247 

rous,  smooth  vanishing-lines  of  cream-and-gray 
fronted  houses,  were  unrelieved  by  a  single 
human  figure.  Suddenly  a  tail  black  spectre, 
as  theatrical  and  as  unreal  as  the  painted 
scenic  distance,  turned  the  corner  from  a  cross- 
street,  and  moved  slowly  towards  me.  A  long 
black  cloak,  falling  from  its  shoulders  to  its 
feet,  floated  out  on  either  side  like  sable  wings  ; 
a  cocked  hat  trimmed  with  crape,  and  sur- 
mounted by  a  hearse-like  feather,  covered  a 
passionless  face  ;  and  its  ej^es,  looking  neither 
left  nor  right,  were  fixed  fatefuHy  upon  some 
distant  goal.  Stranger  as  I  was  to  this  Con- 
tinental ceremonial  figure,  there  was  no  mis- 
taking his  functions  as  the  grim  messenger, 
knocking  "with  equal  foot"  on  every  door ; 
and,  indeed,  so  perfectly  did  he  act  and  look 
his  role,  that  there  was  nothing  ludicrous  in 
the  extraordinary  spectacle.  Facial  expres- 
sion and  dignity  of  bearing  were  perfect ;  the 
whole  man  seemed  saturated  with  the  accepted 
sentiment  of  his  office.  Recalling  the  half- 
confused  and  half-conscious  ostentatious  hy- 
pocrisy of  the  American  sexton,  the  shameless 
absurdities  of  the  English  mutes  and  mourners, 


248       VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

I  could  not  help  feeling,  that,  if  it  were  de- 
manded that  Grief  and  Fate  should  be  personi- 
fied, it  were  better  that  it  should  be  well  done. 
And  it  is  one  observation  of  my  Spion,  that 
this  sincerity  and  belief  is  the  characteristic 
of  all  Continental  functionaries. 

It  is  possible  that  m}'  Spion  has  shown  me 
little  that  is  really  characteristic  of  the  people, 
and  the  few  observations  I  have  made  I  offer 
only  as  an  illustration  of  the  impressions  made 
upon  two-thirds  of  American  strangers  in  the 
larger  towns  of  Germany.  Assimilation  goes 
on  more  rapidly  than  we  are  led  to  imagine. 
As  I  have  seen  my  friend  Karl,  fresh  and 
awkward  in  his  first  uniform,  lounging  later 
down  the  allee  with  the  blase  listlessness  of  a 
full-blown  militaire,  so  I  have  seen  American 
and  English  residents  gradually  lose  their 
peculiarities,  and  melt  and  merge  into  the  gen- 
eral mass.  Returning  to  my  Spion  after  a 
flying  trip  through  Belgium  and  France,  as  I 
look  down  the  long  perspective  of  the  Strasse, 
I  am  conscious  of  recalling  the  same  st}le  of 
architecture  and  humanity  at  Aachen,  Brussels, 
Lille,  and  Paris,  and  am  inclined  to  believe 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SP10N.      249 

that,  even  as  I  would  have  met,  in  a  journey, 
of  the  same  distance  through  a  parallel  of  the 
same  latitude  in  America,  a  greater  diversity 
of  type  and  character,  and  a  more  distinct 
flavor  of  locality,  even  so  would  I  have  met  a 
more  heterogeneous  and  picturesque  display 
from  a  club  window  on  Fifth  Avenue,  New 
York,  or  Montgomery  Street,  San  Francisco. 


i 


0 


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The  twins  of 
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